Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) (22 page)

“Did you?” There was only a hint of impatience in Mary’s voice.

“Did I what?” She raised her cup and drank, though there was only a drop of cold coffee left to linger over. She was stalling.

Mary set down her cup. “You did,” she said with a self-satisfied grin. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be talking in circles.”

Johanna shifted uncomfortably. Though what she had done was wonderful, felt wonderful, she still wasn’t comfortable about the way it might seem to others. “Mary, I don’t know—“

“Ah, but I do. I know you like a book, big sister.” She rose. “Don’t worry, there aren’t fifteen puritanical seamstresses rushing off to their machines to sew a big red ‘A’ on your designer clothes.” Mary placed a hand on Johanna’s shoulder and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Personally, I think it’s wonderful. Welcome back to life.”

Johanna relaxed a little. “Is it that evident?”

Mary nodded. “Yup. You’re smiling again. Really smiling, from the inside out. That’s pretty terrific in my book. ‘Night.”

Johanna watched as her sister walked out of the room. She ran her fingers along her mouth. The smile was still there. And it did indeed feel wonderful.

Mary whisked Jocelyn away to a matinee at the theater and an early dinner afterward, purposely leaving the day free for Johanna. Johanna had never been more grateful to her sister than she was these last few days. She knew that her idyllic time would end very soon. Not just because Mary would go back to the States. Johanna understood that what was between Tommy and her was temporary. Beautiful, breathtaking, but temporary. They existed in two different worlds separated by an ocean and by a culture that neither would have wanted to give up for the other. It was not spoken, but it was understood.

And for the time being, for a few wonderful weeks in August, they belonged together.

Tommy brought her to his home, a tiny apartment on the first floor of a house in the center of the small town of Camden, full of stone walls and green lawns. The cobble-stoned streets were alive with children and mingling, chatting people. In a funny way, teeming with life the way it was, it took her back to New York where she had once been happiest. There too she had felt the same free spirit vibrating in her and in the environment. It amused her to think how happy she managed to be in places that others might turn their noses up at.

She met his father, Stewart, a proud, handsome man in his fifties who made her forget that he was hobbling around on crutches within a few minutes of his first comment. There was nothing about Stewart to feel sorry for. He was warm, witty and she imagined that Tommy would be just like him in another twenty-five years.

“Taught him all I know, that’s why he’s so good,” Stewart Reed told her with an openly flirtatious wink that was as safe as if it had come from her own father.

They sat around a kitchen table, talking over a round of warm beers. She thought of ambrosia and knew that the word applied not only to the drink, but to the ambience around it. There had been few times in her life that had been as rich as this. Certainly she had never experienced it at the parties Harry forced her to attend. The people there had a caricature-like quality about them. She always had the impression that she would find something else if she scratched at the veneer they showed to the world. None of them were as interesting as Stewart was, none had ever held her attention as well as he and the stories he was telling her, even though she knew by the twinkle in the man’s eye that they were exaggerations.

Tommy finally rose, linking his hand with Johanna’s. “C’mon, luv, let me get you away from this old windbag.”

“Windbag, am I?” Stewart cried, feigning indignation. “The lady fancies a man to talk to.”

“With you she’s only listening,” Tommy pointed out. He placed his hand on the small of Johanna’s back, guiding her away from the table. “I’ve brought her here to see my handiwork, not my sire.”

“Of the two, I’d say I was more interesting.”

“Yes, I know you would.” Tommy grinned as he took her out of the room.

His workshop was a small room off the kitchen. Just before he opened the door, he kissed her. Johanna looked at him with puzzled eyes.

“That’s for humoring my old man,” Tommy said as he opened the door.

“I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything of the kind. I was being charmed right down to my shoes.” Lightly, Johanna ran her hand through his wheat colored hair. It fell into his eyes, the way she found so endearing. “I see where you get it from.”

Tommy grinned, pleased and embarrassed by her compliment. “Here, I wanted to show you these.”

He took her hand and led her to a cradle made of ash, with roses carved into the headboard. It was lovingly polished by hand.

Johanna dropped to her knees and examined it slowly, in awe of the exquisite craftsmanship and the love that was displayed in every inch of the cradle. “It’s beautiful,” she said, looking up.

“No, it’s good. You’re beautiful.”

He took her hands in his and raised her slowly to her feet. Her body brushed against his and electricity flashed again, as sure, as strong as the first time, but now she knew what was waiting for her and the urgency with which her body responded took her breath away. She wanted him here.

And then she looked over his shoulder. “Oh, what’s that?”

He released her hand and turned to watch as she walked over to the window. Below the sill, catching the rays of the afternoon sun, was a hope chest he was almost finished with. It was something he was making for himself, something that he had had a need to work on.

Hesitantly, almost afraid to touch it, Johanna ran her hand over the delicate work. “It’s exquisite, Tommy.” She turned her face up to his. “Who’s it for?” She thought of buying it, of outbidding the person it was intended for. It was so lovely, it almost made her heart ache. There was a pastoral scene carved into the lid. It reminded her of the Cotswolds. And them.

He was pleased that she liked it so much. “I’m making it for me.” He crossed the room to join her. Of all the things he had made, he was proudest of this.

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

She was. If it was meant for him, then she wasn’t free to ask if she could buy it. Not if it meant that much to him. “No, I thought that if you were making it for someone, I could offer you more money than they were paying you and buy it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not for sale, luv.”

“No, I understand.” And she did. When you put your heart into something, it was hard to part with it.

This time, when she rose, her face was upturned, waiting.

Tommy buried his hands in her hair. There was no testing of the waters this time. This time, they both knew what was waiting for them.

Johanna felt herself swimming away, leaving earth behind and linking her soul to his as she reached toward heaven. But embarrassment tethered her when she felt Tommy pulling down the zipper of her dress. She shivered, wanting him desperately. But she placed a warning hand to his chest.

“Tommy, your father—“ The protest was only halfhearted.

He nuzzled her neck. His tongue made her skin quiver. The feeling shot straight through to her loins. “—Takes his nap about now and hears nothing.”

Her heart was hammering hard in her ears. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

She could feel his smile against her neck. “I knew I liked him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Clothes were shed, time stood still, and love, so soft, so elusive, so fiery in its rarity, rose up once more between them, creating paradise as the sun shone on the hope chest and bathed the room in reverent hues while it set in the west.

Chapter Twenty-three

The hotel gym was nearly empty. Gleaming, state-of-the-art machines that could exercise and bring excruciating pain to just about every part of the human body stood dormant, like ill-tempered giants waiting to be awakened. For Mary’s money they could go right on sleeping. She sat next to Johanna. Both were perched on stationary bicycles. Only one of them was pedaling.

“Mary, the only way to get anything out of this is to throw yourself into it.” Johanna panted as she spoke. “A little sweat won’t kill you.” She wiped her own from her brow with the back of her hand as if to punctuate the statement.

“You sweat your way and I’ll sweat mine.” Mary’s smile was wicked, as was the look in her eye. “Speaking of sweating, how’s—Tommy, is it?”

“Yes, it’s Tommy, as if you didn’t have the name memorized.” Johanna sounded casual, but the smile that lit her face up to a glow gave her away. “And he’s fine.”

Mary leaned forward on the bicycle, gripping the handlebars. But she made no effort to move the pedals. She simply rested her feet on them. “You two really seem to hit it off.”

Johanna’s mind wandered to that first afternoon in his van, momentarily distracting her from the mounting pain in her knee and the ache in her calves. “Right now, he’s good for me, Mary.”

“Right now,” Mary echoed. “And how about in the future?”

Johanna shook her head a little too emphatically. “I don’t make future plans anymore, not about men. I did that once and it almost killed me.”

She shuddered as she remembered the scene in her bathroom, the running bath water, the razor in her hand, so close to her wrist, so close to permanently separating her from life.

Her reaction did not go unnoticed by Mary. She opened her mouth to ask Johanna what was wrong, then decided that if her sister wanted her to know, she’d tell her. There was something that flashed through her older sister’s eyes which warned Mary to tread lightly here. Here was pain Johanna wasn’t prepared to talk about yet. It took a long time for Johanna to open up about things that truly devastated her. The way it had taken Johanna years to finally admit that their mother had killed herself and hadn’t just died.

“Sounds reasonable to me.” Mary assumed a studied, careless pose. “I never make long range plans about men. There’s always a more interesting one just around the next bend.”

Johanna laughed, the serious moment gone. “What’s the female equivalent of womanizer?”

“Manizer?” Mary arched a brow.

“I don’t think so.”

“Even if it were, it wouldn’t apply.” Mary tossed her head, her short silver blond hair dancing about her face

before it settled back into place. “The term would mean I took advantage. I don’t.” She studied her nails and decided that she needed a manicure. Maybe she could take Jocelyn along and have them do her nails as well. The girl had bitten them down to the quick again. It was a habit that Jocelyn had developed since she last saw her. She’d have bitten her nails too if Harry had been her father, Mary thought. “1 merely enjoy and know the limitations these frail creatures called men have.”

Johanna glanced at the large clock that hung on the opposite wall. Five more minutes before she could stop this torture. “That sounds more like a man-hater.”

“Oh, no way Jose.” Mary shook her head again, this time with feeling. “Uh-uh, not me.” She licked her lower lip and grinned.

Johanna wished she could be more like her sister. “You’re the one dad should worry about, not me.”

Mary waved her hand at the statement. “Me he gave up on a long time ago, dear sister. You were always his tower of strength. I was always his prodigal daughter, always coming home to the fatted calf after a mad fling.” She grew thoughtfully silent for a moment, then posed prettily on the bicycle. It never hurt to be prepared. “He’s your first, isn’t he?”

Two more maddening minutes. “My first what?”

“Fling.”

Johanna missed her rhythm and the bicycle wheel came to a squeaky halt. “I don’t exactly think of it in those terms.”

“Okay,” Mary said gamely. “What term fits then?” Johanna, she knew, was never one to play word games with herself. Mary expected nothing less than honesty from her sister.

“It doesn’t.” Johanna paused, thinking. “But if it did, I guess the word healing would come to mind.”

“He’s a doctor?” She hadn’t told her very much about Tommy. Sometimes, Johanna was too introverted for her own good.

“No, but he might as well be. He’s healed me, Mary. He’s made me feel whole.” Johanna gave up pedaling altogether. She got off the bicycle and picked up a towel to dry herself with.

“Then why don’t you go for it?”

Johanna stopped rubbing and stared at Mary. “Go for what?”

“The whole thing.”

“Meaning?”

“Love, commitment. Set up housekeeping with Mr. Healer with the biceps to die for for as long as it feels right to you.”

“I thought you didn’t care for muscles,” Johanna said, amused. At the same time, she was trying to evade her sister’s suggestion.

Mary looked disdainfully at the exercise equipment as she slowly descended from her perch on top of the stationary bicycle. She really disliked regimented physical exercise. The only reason she had come along to the gym with Johanna was because she wanted to spend some time alone with her sister to talk things over.

“Just because I don’t want any of my own doesn’t mean I don’t notice and admire them on gorgeous specimens of manhood.” Mary narrowed her eyes. “And you are trying to dodge the question. Why don’t you just move in with him and go on healing?”

“It’s not as simple as that, Mary.” Johanna avoided Mary’s probing eyes, just as she was avoiding something within herself. “We’re two different people.”

Mary shrugged. “So? Vive la difference.”

Johanna draped the towel around her neck, holding on to the two ends, and sat down on a hard bench that ran along the length of the mirrored wall. “Maybe, but too much of a difference leads to problems eventually. He’s wonderful, kind, sweet—“

“And as a lover?” Mary believed in getting to the heart of the matter. Johanna averted her face,
 
but not soon enough. “You’re blushing!” Mary cried, circling so that she could see Johanna’s face. She sat down on her other side. Her sister’s reaction delighted and surprised her at the same time. “My God, Johanna, you’ve been married for thirteen years and lived with Harry before that. How can you blush?”

Johanna looked over toward the stationary bicycle. “Exercise,” she muttered.