Season of Passion (5 page)

The radio throbbed with the soft beat of ballads alternating with rock and roll, and the early morning announcer purred comments and snippets of news. It was summertime. Everyone was on vacation, taking trips, visiting, going to the beach. It was hard to remember that life now. Kate's life consisted of visiting Tom, then going home and writing. Sometimes she went into the nursery and sat in the rocking chair, wondering what it would feel like to hold the baby in her arms. Would it feel strange, or would she instantly love it? Being a mother was hard to imagine, even with the baby packed so tightly inside her. That she understood, but seeing it would be different' holding it' she wondered if it would look like Tom. She wanted it to. His name would be Tygue if a boy, and Blaire if a girl. She wanted an unusual name. She had wanted to pick something pretty, something special. Tom would have ' a small sigh escaped as she put out the cigarette and turned the radio up louder. She'd had enough of her own thoughts. She rolled down the window and let the early morning wind play with her hair. She hadn't bothered with the braids today. Tom had always liked her hair loose. And the denim jumper was too tight now, but he wouldn't notice. The seams seemed to beg for release the way her own skin did now. But there was no give left in either her or the dress. She patted her stomach softly with one hand, as she turned onto the freeway and stepped on the gas. The baby was moving again, almost like a puppydog squirming in her lap. It made her smile as she edged the station wagon up to eighty-five. She wanted the drive to go faster. She wanted to see him now.

After another two and a half hours on the freeway, she knew the turnoff was near. All the signals were familiar now. A big green billboard advertising the restaurant another ten miles down the road. A white clapboard house with blue shutters. A sad-looking little motel, and then the turnoff. She automatically slid into the right lane and eased down her speed. Nervously she flicked off the radio, lit another cigarette, and waited at the first crossroads for the traffic to pass. Another fifteen miles and she'd have been in Carmel. This area was more rustic, but prettier in its own way. It was inland from Carmel, but you could see the gulls overhead, endlessly looking for food.

Kate stepped on the gas again, and turned onto the first narrow road on her right. It led her onto another smaller road, more like a lane, overgrown with bushes and small trees. Here and there she could see berries ripe on the bushes, and she longed to get out of the car and pick some; she had done that as a child. But she didn't have time, she had to get there. She looked at her watch. It was already nine-thirty. He would be sitting outside now, or maybe just, lying in his hammock, thinking. He did that a lot She wondered what he thought. He never said. He just laughed when she asked, and sometimes he would look like Tom again, as it he still had things to think about. It was strange to see him that way, as though he were teasing, as though any minute he would stop the game. It made her love him even more; there was such sunlight in his eyes, such joy in his face. He was a beautiful boy.

The main building looked like any large well-kept house. It was painted a crisp white with freshly tended yellow trim, there were flower boxes at almost all the windows, and beautiful flowers planted at the edge of the lawns. A narrow, winding walk led to the front door of the main house, which bore a small brass plaque, carefully engraved. Mead Home. Only two words. They didn't need to say more; anyone who came there knew what the place was. There were several smaller houses visible nearby, all painted in the same yellow and white, and farther from the main cluster were a dozen small, cozy-looking yellow cottages, surrounded by flowers and adorned with white trim. The cottages were the more exclusive accommodations. Some were fitted for two residents, others for only one. And each cottage had its own resident attendant to care for his or her charge. Tom lived in one of the cottages, with a quiet older man in attendance-Mr. Erhard, who discreetly disappeared when Kate visited. The enormous insurance Tom had had as a member of the team miraculously covered his stay at Mead, and would continue to do so for ten or twelve years. After that, Kate was going to have to make other arrangements, but by then ' who knew ' the doctors said he could go on for years the way he was.

The grass felt damp on her sandal-clad feet as she walked toward Tom's cottage. She didn't have to check in at the main house anymore. The residents were carefully protected, but she was familiar now. They saw her arrive from the ever-watchful windows of the main house, and she could come and go as she pleased. She simply arrived and went to find Tom. He was easy enough to find. But today when she reached the cottage, he wasn't there.

Tom? There was no answer to her knock. Mr. Erhard? The attendant seemed to be gone too. Gingerly, she opened the door and looked around. The room was neatly kept and as bright and pretty as the rest of the facilities. It was why she had chosen Mead Home for Tom. She had been to see a number of places like it within driving distance of San Francisco, and all of them had looked bleak, full of despair. Mead had an aura of hope and sunshine about it. It was a place that time no longer touched, the way it no longer touched Tom. It was safe, tucked away. And it looked more like a school than a sanatorium; Kate always expected to hear children singing, or see them running off to play baseball.

Tom? She wondered where he had gone, as she sank into a chair for a minute to catch her breath. She was breathless today, more than she had been. The baby was crowding her increasingly. And she had driven the three hours straight through without stopping, despite her doctor's orders. But stopping took too much time. She always figured she could get the kinks out when she got to Mead. She stretched her legs for a minute, enjoying the comfortable rocking chair. It was upholstered in a bright print with little red flowers, and the quilts on the two beds matched the chair. The curtains were airy white dotted Swiss, and there was a small jar crammed full of bright yellow flowers on the table near the window. She knew Tom had picked them. Some of his drawings were tacked to the walls, and his hand still had the maturity his head no longer had. There were delicate watercolors of flowers and birds. She had never known that he could draw until he had come to Mead. He had never done anything like it before. Only football. Now he didn't even remember he had played. It was as though he had had to go all the way back to childhood to get rid of it. But at last he had.

Actually this was the perfect cottage for anyone, sick or well, adult or child, and Kate liked knowing he was happy there. And he could get around easily in his wheelchair. Outside there was a hammock Mr. Erhard helped him into when Tom was content just to lie and watch the birds. Sometimes he even let him lie there for a while at night, covered with blankets, looking up at the stars. Mr. Erhard was good to Tom. He had been one of his fans for years, and he was pleased with the special assignment when Tom arrived at Mead.

There was a rustle outside as Kate pushed herself out of the chair, and then she heard Mr. Erhard's rich baritone, telling Tom a story. There was a pause for a moment, when he must have noticed the door to the cottage was slightly ajar. She heard his step on the narrow flagstone path, and in a moment the white mane of her husband's attendant was visible in the doorway.

Yes? It was a stern sound, and he looked like a man who brooked neither nonsense nor intrusions. But his face softened instantly when he saw Kate. Well, hello there. How are you feeling?

Fine. Fat They both laughed. How's our friend?

Mr. Erhard nodded, with a satisfied look. Doing fine. He did a whole batch of new drawings yesterday, and we picked some flowers this morning. He'll tell you all about

Hey Andy! It was Tom's voice from outside. The chair was stuck in the grass. Hey!

Coming, son. Erhard was quick to leave the cottage and Kate was right behind him. It was crazy, that smile bursting into her eyes and onto her lips. Why did she still feel like this? As though he ware still the old Tom, as though ' she always felt the same thrill, the same excitement, the same pleasure in just looking at him, touching him, holding him, just knowing he was all right and still hers.

Katie! It was a burst of delight as Tom saw her coming toward him. His eyes danced, and his smile went on forever as he reached out his arms.

Hi, sweetheart How you be today?

Terrific! Wait till you see what we found!

Mr. Erhard's wise old eyes twinkled as he rolled Tom gently toward the cottage and then inside. He was already gone when Kate turned around.

Your new drawings are so pretty, love. But she wasn't looking at the drawings, she was looking at him. He looked brown and strong and happy. The Tom Sawyer of Mead Home. And then he wheeled right up to her and she quickly bent down and took him in her arms. It was a good, clean, warm hug. That was all he understood now, but it carried with it the strength of everything she felt for him.

You look pretty, Katie. He looked almost embarrassed as he pulled away, and then wheeled his chair quickly to the table. He picked up the jar with the yellow flowers and then wheeled quickly back. I picked these for you. Tears sprang to her eyes as she smiled at him and took the jar. But they were happy pregnant tears, not tears of grief.

They're beautiful. She wanted to hug him again, but she knew she had to wait. It would make him uncomfortable if she overdid it. He would come to her in his own time. Want to go for a walk?

Okay.

She tossed her handbag aside and started to push his chair. It was heavier than she had realized, or maybe she was just exceptionally tired. The baby seemed to weigh a thousand pounds today. But Tom helped her as they got onto the walk. He guided the wheels with his hands, and they quickly found one of the smoother walks.

Want to sit by the lake? He looked back at her and nodded happily, and then he started whistling to himself.

The lake was tiny but pretty, like everything at Mead. Kate had brought him a model sailboat to use on the water, and he went there often. Mr. Erhard said it was one of his favorite things to do. But they had left it at the cottage. Gently, she turned the chair around, and sat down heavily on the grass.

So, what've you been up to all week?

How come you didn't come to see me this week?

Because I was too busy being fat. There was still this foolish compulsion to talk to him about it, as though she could jog his memory, as though he would understand that the baby was his, or even that there was a baby at all.

I bet it's hard to run. He said it with a broad grin and a barely suppressed chuckle that made her laugh too. She reached for his hand, and the dear sound of her laughter rang out over the small lake.

It sure is. I look like an old mother hen waddling along. He laughed too then, and kept hold of her hand. They sat smiling for a long time and then he grew serious.

How come I can't come home with you, Katie? I can do the chair myself. Or maybe we could take Mr. Erhard. Huh? That again. Dammit.

Kate slowly shook her head, but continued to hold his big hand in hers. Don't you like it here, Torn?

I want to go home with you. He looked so wistful that she had to swallow the tears in her throat. She couldn't discuss that with him. Not again. He didn't understand. He made her feel as if she were abandoning him.

That would be kind of hard to do right now. Why don't we just leave it like this for a while, and then we can talk about it another time?

You won't let me then either. I promise I'll be good. There were tears in his eyes now, and all she could do was rise to her knees on the grass and put her arms around him to hold him close.

You are good, and I love you. And I promise, darling, if it's possible at all, one day I'll take you home. There was a long sad silence, as they both held tightly to their own thoughts, worlds away from each other and yet never closer. And in the meantime, I'll visit and we'll play, and Mr. Erhard will take good care of you, and ' It was impossible to go on as she choked back the tears. But Tom had already lost the thread of the conversation.

Okay. Oh, look! Excitedly, he pointed upward and she leaned back to look into the sun, wiping the dampness from her eyes. Isn't he pretty? I forget what you call it, Mr. Erhard told me yesterday. It was a blue and green bird with a yellow tail and shimmering wings. Kate smiled slowly at Tom and sat down on the grass again.

I brought you a picnic. How about that?

For real?

She held up a solemn hand. For real. I promise. It was fun doing things for him, even if it was only making a picnic lunch. She had brought salami sandwiches, and big fresh country potato chips, macaroni salad, beautiful peaches and a basket of cherries. And there was a thermos of lemonade and a slab of chocolate cake. He even ate like a kid now.

What's it got? His eyes were dancing again. The wanting to go home with Katie was already forgotten. For now.

You'll see what's in the picnic when you get hungry for lunch. She waggled a finger at him, and he caught it. It was a game they had played since they met. They still played it. It was one of the things that allowed her to pretend, for a moment, a minute, the flash of an eyelash, that everything was the same.

I'm hungry.

You are not. You just want to see what's in the picnic basket. She lay on the grass, feeling like an overturned whale, and grinned up at him.

Honest, I'm hungry! But he was laughing again, they both were.

How can you be hungry? It's ten-thirty in the morning.

Mr. Erhard didn't give me any breakfast. But the laughter danced right out of his eyes and he couldn't keep a straight face.

Baloney. You fibber.

Come on, Katie, I'm starving.

You're impossible. But she pushed herself up to a sitting position and thought about getting the basket. If he was hungry, why not? I brought you a present, by the way.

You did? What?

You'll see.

Oh, you're so mean! He said it with the outrage of childhood, and a fierce impatience for both the picnic and the gift. And with another slow smile, Kate got to her feet and then bent down to kiss the tip of his nose. Don't do that! Gently, he swatted her away.