Warrior's Embrace (18 page)

“I cheated. This is out of a can, but I’m
going to add garlic.”

“To keep away vampires?”

“And insistent Apache lovers.”

“Nothing will keep Bolton away.”

“Do you want him to go away, Virginia?”

Through the window Virginia could see a light
in the cottage. What was Bolton doing? The last time she’d seen him
in that cottage he had been standing beside the fire naked.

A jolt of pure desire hit Virginia. For a
moment Virginia reveled feelings she thought she might never have
again, and then reality crashed down on her. What good would it do
her to feel desire when she was no longer desirable?

“Jane. I’m hungry for that soup now.”

When Jane came back she was bearing two bowls
of soup, two glasses of milk, and an assortment of candy bars.

“To get us through the night,” she said,
plopping into a chair beside the bed. She opened a Hershey’s bar
with almonds, broke it in two, and gave Virginia the largest piece.
“Here, food for the soul. You never did answer my question. Do you
want him to leave?”

“I don’t know the answer.” Virginia bit into
the candy, allowing herself the luxury of high-calorie, high-fat
chocolate because she needed self-indulgence. “Logically I know he
should go back to Arizona and forget about me. Right?”

Jane merely smiled, then peeled the wrapper
off another candy bar and began munching.

“All that chocolate is not good for you,”
Virginia said. She picked up her soup spoon, but after two bites
she couldn’t keep up the pretense of normality.

“How much of my breast do you think they
took?”

“Not much.”

“You don’t know that, do you? Did Dr. Mason
say that?”

“No. It’s just a gut feeling.”

Virginia shoved her food aside and climbed
out of bed.

“I can’t stand this anymore. I have to
know.”

“What are you doing?” Jane said, following
her into the bathroom.

Virginia rummaged in a drawer until she found
a pair of scissors.

“I’m going to find out.”

“You can’t do that,” Jane said.

Ignoring her, Virginia eased the scissors
underneath the tape.

“Virginia... stop that. You’re going to cut
yourself.”

“I’ve already been cut.”

“Oh, shootpootfart... give me the scissors.”
Jane began the delicate procedure of cutting away Virginia’s
bandage. “I haven’t cussed since New Year’s Day of 2000. You’re
driving me crazy...” She gingerly peeled away the first layer of
Virginia’s bandage. “It’s a good thing I took a serious first-aid
course and know my fanny from a hole in the Grand Canyon, or we’d
be up the proverbial stink creek without a paddle. You do have more
bandages, don’t you, Virginia?”

“In the medicine cabinet.” Virginia winced as
the last of the gauze was peeled away.

Steadying herself on the vanity, she looked
in the mirror. Her left breast had a chunk the size of a silver
dollar carved out of it. Virginia turned quickly away from the
mirror, unable to bear the sight of her disfigurement.

“It’s hideous. Cover it back up.” She sank
onto the toilet seat.

“It’s not hideous. It’s hardly even
noticeable.”

“Only the blind wouldn’t notice. I’m
lopsided. My clothes won’t fit. Even my bras won’t fit.”

“It will eventually fill back in. That’s what
the doctor said, Virginia.”

Virginia didn’t hear her; she was too busy
tasting the salt of her own tears.

“Make him go away, Jane.”

Jane didn’t have to ask who. Silently she
rebound Virginia’s breast.

“I don’t want to see him again. I
can’t
see him again. Ever.”

Virginia leaned on Jane and allowed herself
to be helped back into bed as if she were an invalid. Jane pulled
the covers over her, then quietly removed the food.

“Sleep, Virginia. Everything will look
different in the morning. You’ll see.”

“Do you think all this will go away
overnight? Do you think I’m going to wake up and have a whole
breast?”

Jane extinguished all the lights except a
small lamp inside the bathroom door before she came back to the
bed.

“The thing that matters most is that you have
a whole mind and a whole personality and a whole spirit,
Virginia.”

She could barely hear Jane moving across the
room, barely see her as she got blankets from the closet shelf and
spread them on the chaise longue. The room was so quiet, Virginia
could hear the faint chimes of the grandfather clock downstairs.
Outside the moon shone on Bolton’s cottage, the windows now dark.
Downstairs Candace would be trying to get a good night’s sleep
before her drive back to college.

Virginia forced herself not to think about
her body, about what had been done to it and what might be
happening to it even as she slept. “Jane...”

“Hmmm?”

“I don’t know what I would do without
you.”

“You don’t have to find out. Go to sleep,
Virginia.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

Bolton sat on a bar stool in Virginia’s
kitchen, drinking coffee, while Jane added a glass of orange juice
to the breakfast tray she was preparing.

“I’ll take that upstairs,” he said.

“I’m sorry. She won’t see you, Bolton.”

“Why? Yesterday everything seemed to be all
right. What happened to change her mind?”

“She saw the scar on her breast.”

“That’s all? Does she think that matters to
me?”

“Yes, she thinks that. More important, it
matters to her. Bolton, do you have any idea the role a woman’s
breasts play in her self-image? Not only are they symbols of
nurturing, but they are vital to our feelings of sensuality and
desirability. Right now, Virginia feels undesirable and disfigured.
Besides that, she’s worried about having cancer, and she’s bound
and determined to protect you from that.”

He tore a piece of paper off the notepad on
the bar and began to write. Curious, Jane tried to read over his
shoulder.

“All of you writers are just alike. Nobody
can read your handwriting.”

Bolton folded the paper in half and handed it
to Jane.

“Please give this to Virginia.”

“What is it?”

“A message.”

“Okay, I get the picture. It’s none of my
business.” She stuffed it into her pocket, picked up the tray, and
started toward the door. “I’ll try to resist the temptation to read
it before I give it to her.”

“Thanks, Jane.”

“You bet.”

Virginia was standing beside the window when
Jane went into her bedroom. In the distance her Arabians raced
across the pasture, their manes and tails streaming like white
flags.

“I wish I could ride,” she said. “There’s
something wonderfully liberating about racing along with the wind
in my hair and the sun on my face and nothing around me except
earth and sky and trees.” She sat in the chair beside the window
and gazed wistfully at Jane.

“I don’t feel in control of my life anymore.
When I’m on my horse, nothing else seems to matter; everything
falls into its proper place. Does that make any sense, Jane?”

“You always make sense, Virginia. You’re the
most sensible person I know. Sometimes I wonder if you’re too
sensible.”

“What do you mean? Too sensible?”

Jane reached into her pocket and pulled out
the note. “Here, read this first.” She handed Virginia the note.
“From Bolton.”

Virginia refolded the note and held it in her
lap.

“What’s the use of reading it? A note won’t
change a thing.”

“That’s what I mean.” Jane squatted beside
her chair and covered Virginia’s hands with hers. “I know I said
some things that made you believe that I think a match between you
and Bolton would be about the worst disaster since Hurricane
Katrina tore through the Gulf Coast, but I had no right to make
that kind of judgment. Nor does anybody else. Forget everything and
everybody. You’ve always been intrepid, Virginia. Look how far
you’ve come! Be intrepid again and reach out for what you
want.”

“What I want would not be fair to
Bolton.”

“Why don’t you let him be the judge of
that?”

Slowly Virginia unfolded the note. Bolton’s
handwriting was exactly what she had expected, big and bold with
straight, decisive lines.

“Virginia,” he had written. “You are my life,
my love, and nothing else matters. NOTHING! Each moment we are not
together is a waste. Together we are a miracle; apart we are two
lonely people filled with regret. Marry me, Virginia. Let’s not
waste our tomorrows.”

She read the note twice before she refolded
it and put it in the top drawer of her bedside table.

“Well... What did he say?”

“Nothing that would convince me to change my
mind.” Virginia hastily scribbled on a notepad, then tore the page
off and handed it to Jane. “Will you take him this?”

“Shoot, I fancied myself as Cupid when all
along I was nothing but the pony express.” At Virginia’s withering
look, Jane threw up her hands; “All right, all right. I’ll take
it.”

Bolton was waiting for her at the bottom of
the stairs.

“What did she say?”

“Here.” Jane handed him the note. “This is
what she said.”

Virginia’s reply was brief: “Bolton, for me
tomorrow may never come. I can’t and I
won’t
saddle you
with my problems.”

Bolton was so still that Jane thought he had
forgotten she was there.

“Will there be a reply?”

“No. No reply.” He started toward the door,
then remembered his manners. “Thanks, Jane.”

“Wait. Where are you going? You’re not giving
up, are you?”

“Never.” He smiled at her. “There’s an old
Apache saying that wisdom comes to us in dreams.”

Virginia stood at her window and watched
Bolton go down the path to the cottage, then enter. She could see
movement behind the windows. What was he doing? Packing?

o0o

She heard Jane enter the room, but Virginia
didn’t turn around; she
couldn’t
turn around, not as long
as there was a chance to catch a glimpse of Bolton.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“Just that.”

“What?”

“The same thing you just said, except that he
said, ‘What did
she
say?’ “

“Oh... Is there a note?”

“No. No note.”

Virginia wadded the curtain in her hand, her
eyes riveted on the guest cottage. The curtains were open to let in
the autumn sunlight, and through the French doors she could see him
at the desk, using the telephone. Who was he calling?

”Did he say
anything?”

“Some old Indian wisdom about Apaches coming
with dreams.”

“What?”

“Or maybe it was dreams coming with
Apaches.”

“Good grief. That doesn’t sound like
Bolton.”

“That’s what I say. Good grief.” Jane
puttered around the room, picking up every movable object. “Do you
want to play checkers, Virginia?”

“No. I want you to go home and get some
rest.”

“You haven’t heard from Dr. Mason.”

“I’m not likely to hear today, and I’m not
planning to fall apart today, either.” She caught her friend’s
hand. “Look, Jane. I feel better this morning, stronger. I thought
I might even go downstairs and work at the computer awhile.
Anything to keep my mind off myself while I wait to hear from the
doctor.”

“If you think I’m leaving you till he calls,
you’ve got another think coming.” Jane set up the checkerboard. “Do
you want black or red?”

“Black. It fits my mood.”

Jane set up the board. “And don’t cheat. You
always cheat.”

“I do not. You say that because I always
win.”

Jane made her first move. “What do you reckon
he meant about Apaches coming with dreams?”

Virginia shrugged her shoulders, then made
her move. But her mind was not on the game; it was on an incredibly
passionate Apache who had come to her bearing a dream, not once,
not twice, but three times. Was she crazy to keep spitting in the
eye of fate?

She never even noticed when Jane jumped her
and swept her checker off the board.

At mid-afternoon Bolton left on some
mysterious errand and didn’t return until long after dark. If Jane
had been awake, Virginia would have discussed his whereabouts with
her, but Jane was stretched out on the chaise longue snoring.
Exhausted.

Virginia watched as Bolton rounded the curve
in the pathway that led to the cottage. He paused at the door and
gazed toward her window. The moon slanted across his face and his
mouth moved. Though she couldn’t hear the words she knew exactly
what he was saying. “I love you.”

For an instance his face was illuminated by
one of his quicksilver smiles, and then he went inside, vanishing
as silently as one of the big, graceful wildcats she had seen on
his mountain.

Virginia dragged herself to the bathroom.
When she caught sight of herself, she jerked a towel off the rack
and draped it over the mirror. The tightening in her throat
signaled a gathering of tears. She felt totally helpless, even more
helpless than she had when Roger had left her.

Suddenly Virginia remembered those days, days
of wondering how she could raise her child and pay her bills alone,
days of wondering where her next bit of strength would come from,
her next bit of hope.

Intrepid,
Jane had called her. And
by George, she had been. She
was.

She marched to the mirror, tore the towel
off, and stared at herself. There was nothing wrong with the
outside of her that a good shampoo and a good bath wouldn’t fix. As
for the inside... she would cross that bridge when she came to it.
And if cancer was waiting for her on the other side, she would
fight a battle the likes of which had never been fought.

“You’re not going to beat Virginia Haven,”
she said. “Don’t even try.”