Wait for Me (20 page)

She shook her head, making a vain attempt to hide her grin as she looked up at the wonderment in his face.

Dear Lord, had any man ever made her laugh more easily? she wondered, sobering. Had any man ever suited her better? Was there anyone she’d ever felt more attuned to, as if they’d been together forever? Was any face more precious to her? she pondered, reaching out to touch it lightly.

“It’s less than four hundred miles away,” he said gently, smiling with tenderness as he noticed the tears welling in her eyes. “I’ll come with you if you want.”

“There you go, being sweet again,” she said, smiling in return, blinking away the tears, her heart aching as if she’d stubbed it against something in the dark, something hard and unexpected. “But I’ll only be gone a day or two. Just long enough to make sure she’s all right.”

His hesitation was hardly noticeable before he asked, “Do you need any money?”

“Nope. I always have emergency plane fare. Thanks anyway.”

He had his head propped up on one arm and was frowning down at her. “I wish you didn’t look so lost. So sad. I’d feel better if I didn’t think you were worried about her.”

“I’m not. Truly. I just hate thinking of her being sick,” she said, the lies seeming to come easier and easier now that she knew what had to be done. She needed to get away for a bit, to think, to make decisions, to plan. “She’s hardly ever sick,” she said, peppering the lies with tiny bits of truth to make herself feel better.

Oliver wasn’t sure he wanted to believe her, but she’d always been so open with her feelings and thoughts, how could he not? He chose to believe he was imagining the pain and sorrow in her eyes and addressed himself to her expressed concerns.

“Then you should go and forget about everything here. The clinic won’t fall apart while you’re gone, and seeing her will make you feel better,” he said. “Close your eyes and get some sleep now. We’ll leave early and catch one of the commuter flights.”

He stretched across her to reach the lamp switch. The room went suddenly dark. She couldn’t see his face anymore and it frightened her.

“Oliver?”

“Hmmm?”

“Hold me really tight tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, taking her into his arms as he settled his large body against her slight form.

“No, I mean really tight. Like you won’t ever let go.”

“How’s this? Better?”

“Perfect.” Almost.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe he wouldn’t let go, ever. She could almost pretend that she’d lie in his arms every night for the rest of her life, listening to gentle night noises; smiling at the sounds of their children stirring in their sleep; dozing contentedly, warm and happy; sleeping soundly, safe and blessed.

Almost... if she closed her eyes.

It wasn’t yet dawn as she stood over the bed looking down on Oliver, his bare arm thrown limp across the sheets that no longer held her warmth. She hadn’t closed her eyes once in those last hours with him. She hadn’t believed and she couldn’t pretend.

She locked the door on her way out, hoping he’d notice and know that she hadn’t left him unprotected. She’d left a note saying she’d taken a cab to the airport, so he wouldn’t worry. She’d resisted the urge to kiss him, so he wouldn’t wake up and see her crying again.

For if it came to be that she was to bring pain and disillusionment to him, she didn’t want her torment to be his last memory of her. No, because maybe, after some time and after some of the anger and hurt had faded, just maybe... he’d remember how she felt in his arms that night, and smile.

She ignored the Daly City train, took the Richmond/Fremont, and got off at the Berkeley station in time to get lost in the crowd of students who had returned after the Christmas holiday.

In her heart, she was on her way to L.A.; she was going home to Mama and the boys and the big old house on Chambrey Street—not the little motel wedged between a gas station and a convenience store off Ashby Avenue, that was really an OTE with the “M” and the “L” burnt out in the sign. As she sat in a corner of the dark little room in a straight-backed chair and cried, her heart dreamed of Mama pressing her head to her roomy soft lap, of her stroking her hair and listening patiently as she wept out her tale. In her heart, she twisted the large white handkerchief Mama always kept tucked away in her bodice, tightly in her fingers and closed her dry, scratchy eyes in relief. She felt herself being covered by the hand-stitched pink and white quilt that had been folded at the end of her bed for as long as she could remember. In her heart, she wasn’t alone in a strange room, with dingy gray sheets and yellowed Venetian blinds pulled flat against the daylight. In her heart, she had all the answers, still she cudgeled her brain with the hardest decision she’d ever made in her life. A decision with no winning answers. A decision she had to make for herself, for the clinic, for Oliver. A decision she had to make alone, one that not even Mama could help her with...

Fifty-four hours later, Holly and her overnight bag sneaked out of the motel room. Locked inside the dull, dreary room, she left an innocent heart that was safer in the darkness, that wouldn’t survive in the reality of a world where dreams didn’t come true, where goodness didn’t prevail and love didn’t conquer all.

It was a silly old heart anyway, she determined, walking briskly to the BART station a few blocks away. It had been a naive heart that believed in the dignity and virtue of the human spirit, a heart that foolishly put its faith in mankind.

She was better off without it, she firmly decided, taking a seat on the train. Without a heart, decisions were easy... well, a little easier anyway. Without a heart to break, her dilemma had narrowed to a simple choice between her love for Oliver, and a multitude of needy people. She didn’t need a heart to know what was expected of her, what her duty was, what was right and what was selfish.

What was the happiness of two people to the misery of thousands?

She walked home thinking it ironic that even love could be boiled down to a matter of dollars and cents. It was always money, and she hated it more now than she ever had before. Hated it, and couldn’t help laughing contemptuously as she pulled two new overdrawn bank statements from her mailbox.

She looked up as she heard footsteps on the landing above.

“There you are!” Johanna exclaimed, as relieved as she was surprised to see her standing there. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Hi,” Holly said, starting up the stairs toward her. She’d been hoping for more time to get used to her decision before she had to deal with any of the Careys. But it was becoming obvious that the Fates weren’t going to cut her any slack this time.

“Where have you been?” Johanna asked again, clearly agitated and concerned.

“In a vacuum,” she answered, and when Johanna frowned at her, she added, “Thinking.”

“Oh, dear. What are you going to do?”

“What your mother wants,” she said, trying not to rain her resentment down on the daughter. With each step her feet grew heavier, as if her shoes were magnets pulling the nails from the stairs. She was half-sick with exhaustion and miserable, and she didn’t want to be back in her life again. She would have given everything she owned for a sleeping pill and a little peace of mind. “She didn’t leave me much of a choice.”

“You can still tell Oliver, you know,” Johanna said, following her up to her apartment. “It’s not too late. Tell him everything.”

“I thought about it,” she said, bending over the lock in the door with her key. “I was going to do it, too, but then I thought about you and her and Oliver. She’s not his most favorite person in the world, I know, but she is all the family he has left. Her and you. I know what he’d do to her—and to you through her. I couldn’t do it, Johanna,” she said, letting them into her apartment and closing the door behind them. “Family is important, even if they are scumbags. No offense.”

Johanna gave her a nervous smile. “Oliver wouldn’t hold it against me. He knows I wouldn’t hurt a fly, that I wouldn’t... that I’m not capable of the things my mother can do. And I don’t really think he’d miss her. You’re much more important to him, Holly. He loves you.”

“He does now, but family is family, and eventually he’d come to see that I’m the one who split his apart. I can’t. And I can’t take chances with the clinic either. Money’s tight everywhere. We tried other foundations, the government, they’re all stretched to their limits. We need the Carey Foundation—and your mother knows it.”

Holly fell onto the couch and Johanna stood staring at her for a long time before she finally asked, “So, what happens next?”

Her head sagged back against the cushion, and she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to open them ever again.

“I tear out Oliver’s heart and have it for lunch while he watches. He’s a pretty sharp guy. He’ll get the picture, and your mother’ll have what she wants.”

“But how? What are you going to tell him?”

She rolled her head back and forth. “I have no idea.”

“Don’t you have a plan?”

She shrugged. “Who needs one? Oliver and I were doomed from the beginning. We’re as suited for each other as a pair of male pit bulls. We’re fascinated by our differences and we tolerate each other’s views because we’re in love, but we don’t agree on anything. Any show of intolerance, any challenge or act of aggression will have us tearing each other’s throats out in a matter of seconds.”

“Are you sure it’ll be that easy?” Johanna looked doubtful.

She looked at her then. “I never said it would be easy.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it? You look awful.”

“How am I supposed to look?” she snapped, then regretted it. “Don’t worry. The worse I look, the easier it’ll be for him to leave me.”

“Well, it’s just that I think he’s on his way over here now,” she said, stepping to the window to look down into the street. “He knows you didn’t go to L.A., and he somehow knew you’d be back today. He said it was Thursday and you never miss Thursdays.” She sent a perplexed expression over her shoulder at Holly. “I assume you know what that means?”

She nodded, thinking of all the hair appointments she’d missed that day.

“How did he find out that I didn’t go to L.A., do you know?”

“He called. Your foster mother said she hadn’t seen you since Thanksgiving and wasn’t expecting you until after Easter.”

She rolled and closed her eyes once more. “Well, if she wasn’t sick before, she is by now—with worry,” she said, with a sigh of remorse. She felt as if everything were turning to ash around her.

“Would you like some tea?” Johanna asked, her voice full of sympathy.

“No. Thanks,” she said with a weak half-smile. “Maybe some coffee would help though. Want some? I’ll make it.”

“Sure,” she said, turning to take another quick peek out the window. “But I’ll make it. You don’t look strong enough to—Oh, my goodness. Oh, Holly,” she said, turning to look at her with an expression of panic and expectancy on her face.

“He’s here?”

She nodded, and they stared at each other for a minute that lasted a year and a half.

Holly’s lungs began to ache with the breath she was holding. It came out hard and fatalistically. She rubbed her face with her hands and started to rise to her feet.

“What about me?” Johanna whispered breathlessly.

“What?” she asked. Johanna wasn’t the person looming in her mind. Johanna barely registered.

“Where can I go? Where can I hide? I shouldn’t be here.”

That was probably true. Johanna’s presence would only complicate matters. Oliver might suspect that his family was involved in her decision to end their relationship, and then she’d never get rid of him.

She didn’t want to be rid of him! Oh, Lord. It was her heart. It had escaped. It was back and it was angry and hurt and screaming with indignation. To hell with the whole world, it shouted. Oliver was hers. He loved her. She loved him. What else could possibly be more important than that?

Through the exhaustion and quagmire of conflicting thoughts and emotions, Johanna’s anxious fidgeting caught her attention.

“You stay here,” she said, pulling herself together with no little effort. Standing, she clenched her teeth and refused to hear the clamor in her heart. “I’ll head him off downstairs. I don’t want him up here anyway. He won’t make a scene in the streets.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” Johanna said, more at ease. “I don’t think you realize what he’s capable of.”

“Maybe not,” Holly said, grabbing up the jacket she’d just removed and heading for the door. “But if I don’t let him up here, I won’t have to throw him out. Where are you parked?”

“On the end of the block. That way,” she said, pointing. “I parked on the side street. I was afraid he’d drive by and see my car.”

“Good. When I get him out of the building, you come down and leave through the fire exit at the back.”

She had to hurry. She thought she heard Johanna make a noise as she closed the door, as if she’d started to cry, but she didn’t turn back to find out. She didn’t care. The threat of her own tears concerned her more.

Her heart was frantic to get her attention. It was beating too fast and shooting pains through her chest. She turned her hands into fists, digging her nails into the palms to distract her mind from the aching in her chest, to focus it on the matter at hand... so to speak.

She’d made her decision. She’d considered everyone involved and made the best choice. Dashing down the second flight of stairs, she pressed her hand to her stomach as it lurched in hunger and chaos, threatening to revolt. She prayed for resolve and begged for the courage to do what had to be done. She conjured up mental pictures of the homeless families she’d encountered, the sick babies, the expressions of loss and bewilderment on the faces of men, women, and children of all ages—and hoped that the same expression on Oliver’s face wouldn’t kill her.

She yelped in surprise as she landed on the first floor and came face-to-face with Oliver, charging in through the doorway.

She swallowed hard and knew she looked guilty as hell as he glowered at her. She couldn’t help it. She’d lied to him and he was angry. Who wouldn’t feel guilty?