With This Ring (23 page)

Then he took her hand in his, gently rubbing the ring finger. "You put away your ring."

She turned to look at him. "Yes."

If she was feeling sad, she was disguising it well. Encouraged, he smiled and said, "How would you feel about another ring?"

She hesitated, and Justin immediately wanted to kick himself. It was too soon. Why hadn't he waited? He wished he could take the words back, but it was too late.

But then she smiled and said softly, "Could we wait awhile before we discuss this? I-I'm not quite ready," and everything was all right again.

* * *

In May, Amy was asked to chaperon the sixth graders' class trip to Washington D.C. She would be gone five days.

"I'm going to miss you," Justin said.

"I'll miss you, too."

"What am I going to do with myself Friday and Saturday night?" he complained, putting on a sad face. "You'll be having fun in Washington, and I'll be all by myself."

"Oh, sure, I'll be overseeing twenty-two eleven-year-olds. Some fun." But Amy was looking forward to it. She loved the kids and knew they'd all have a great time in Washington. "Anyway, if you're lonesome, call Lark and take her out to dinner."

Although Amy had offhandedly tossed off the suggestion, Justin thought it was a good idea, so a couple of days later, he did call Lark.

"Well," she said when she heard his voice. "This is a surprise. What's up?"

Justin felt a bit guilty because even though Lark had not criticized him, he knew he had neglected their friendship in the past months. And he really liked Lark and had missed their conversations. He resolved not to neglect her again. "You know Amy's going to Washington tomorrow."

"Yeah, she told me."

"I was hoping, if you don't have plans, you'd keep me company Friday night. Let me take you to dinner."

"Well, actually, I
do
have plans."

"Oh." He knew he had no right to feel disappointed, but somehow, he did. "What about Saturday night?"

She was silent for so long, Justin began to think she might not have heard him. Finally, though, she said, "Sure. Why not?"

They decided he would pick her up at six-thirty and that they would go to Las Alamedas.

After they'd hung up, Justin thought about that long silence before Lark said okay to Saturday night. Something about it, something about the entire conversation, bothered him. He wondered if there was anything wrong. He'd seen so little of Lark in the past couple of months that he had no idea what was going on in her life.

Well, Saturday night, he'd make it his business to ask. Now that he'd made the first move to recapturing the friendship they'd built since Sam's death, he didn't want to lose it again.

* * *

Lark was disgusted with herself. She'd tried on at least six different outfits before finally deciding she'd wear her favorite black jeans and a long lacy tunic top in a soft shade of peach combined with her one indulgence of a pair of black patent Jimmy Choo stilettos and be damned with the whole thing. Who cared what she wore, anyway? Certainly, Justin wouldn't. Hell, no. She wasn't kidding herself he wanted to take her to dinner because he missed her company or anything. He just wanted, in Amy's absence, to be able to talk about her to someone who would listen.

Lark felt like throwing something. Why had she said she'd go tonight? Why was she letting herself in for this misery? She was so fucking stupid! She could see the entire scenario now. All night Justin would slop and glop about Amy, and Lark would have to listen and smile and say appropriate gushy things back.

Well, she'd be
damned
if she would. If he started in about how wonderful everything was, Lark might just say a few choice things, like he was a damned fool if he thought Amy really loved him the way a woman should love a man and that she would
never
love him that way.

Lark continued to mutter and curse even as she picked up her perfume and gave herself four good squirts and put extra mascara on her eyelashes and brushed her cheekbones with a darker blush than she normally used and defiantly made up her lips in a dark lipstick that matched her outfit.

Then she glared at herself in the mirror. Starkly unhappy eyes looked back at her. "I hate him," she said. "I don't know why I'm going tonight. I'm crazy."

Seconds later, the doorbell rang.

When she saw him standing on her doorstep—dark hair slicked back, blue eyes depthless and filled with warmth, smiling down at her—she knew exactly why she'd said she'd go. Because being with him, having his smile and his eyes and his warmth all to herself, even if only for a few hours, was worth all the pain and unhappiness she would feel when the hours were over.

He gave a low whistle. "Wow. You look nice."

"Well, gee," she said dryly, "don't act so surprised. I really do clean up well."

He laughed and bent down to kiss her cheek. "I've missed you, smart mouth."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Mine. I know."

"Good. Now that we've got the apology for your shameful neglect out of the way, let's go eat. I'm starving."

The evening turned out to be both easier and harder than Lark had expected. It was easier in that Justin did not talk about Amy much except to say he hoped she had a good time in Washington. It was harder in that Lark realized all over again just what it was about Justin that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.

He was so damned
nice.
Why couldn't he be a horse's ass, like so many of the men she met? Why couldn't he be selfish and thoughtless and totally wrapped up in himself? Why did he have to be so honest and sincere and really sweet?

He actually cared what she said. He asked her questions, and he listened to the answers, and his eyes didn't stray the way a person's did when they weren't really hearing you but thinking about what they were going to say next.

And he laughed at her jokes. When she made one of her smart remarks, he grinned, and she knew he was amused and entertained, and that he liked being with her.

And, oh, God, she loved being with him.

She pretended, as the evening drew to a close, and they ate their flan and drank their coffee, that they were a couple. That when they left to go home, he would come inside, and they would go into her bedroom, and he would slowly undress her, and she would slowly undress him, and then they would make love.

She knew it was stupid. She knew she was only hurting herself, but she couldn't seem to help it. The wanting and needing were too strong. Suddenly, she could no longer stand her feelings and the terrible emptiness in her heart. "I . . . I'll be back," she said, standing. "I'm going to the Ladies'."

He smiled. "Okay."

Once inside the restroom, Lark put her hands over her feverish face. She was shaking, as close to tears as she'd ever been. She knew she had to get herself under control before she went back out there. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was let Justin see how she felt about him. Wouldn't that be fucking wonderful?

She finally managed to get herself calmed down. She splashed cold water on her face and repaired her makeup. Then she took several deep breaths.

It had been a mistake to come tonight. She couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle being with him. Her emotions were too raw.

But she'd learned her lesson.

From now on, she would stay as far away from Justin as she could get.

July, 1994 - Western Nepal

The dream came and went.

It was always the same. He was in a maze, and he kept walking and walking, but he could never find the way out. He knew it was there, probably just around the corner, but it always eluded him. Just as his name and where he'd come from and what had happened to him eluded him. Somehow the two were tied together, and he knew, if he ever found the way out of the maze, he'd also find himself.

He fingered the plastic-enclosed picture of the beautiful girl with the laughing eyes. The picture and the clothes he'd worn when the villagers found him, were all he had of his former life.

He knew the girl was important to him. Sometimes, when he looked into her green eyes, he felt as if he were almost there. Something . . . some tiny memory buried deep in his subconscious would tug at the corners of his mind. He'd strain, trying to reach it, but it would drift away.

At times like these, his head would hurt unbearably, and he would moan. Within moments, Reena would come, with her sympathetic dark eyes and soothing, cool hands and gentle words of comfort. She would stroke his forehead and give him water and sit with him until his headache went away. Sometimes she would sing, and he would fall asleep.

He had figured out early in his sojourn that Reena was the matriarchal head of the village. The other women looked up to her and deferred to her opinions.

He knew he was lucky, because Reena had obviously adopted him. It was clear she considered him a son of sorts, because she mothered him and fussed over him.

In the first days after they'd found him, when he'd been nearly delirious with pain, she had directed the men to move him into her
ghar
, and she'd nursed him day and night. She'd fed him endless cups of tea, which she called
chiyaa
and a type of gruel made of potatoes called
aalu,
and then, when he got stronger,
maasu
mixed with cooked
banda kobi
—meat and cabbage.

"
Ramro, ramro,
" she would say when he finished his food. She would give him a wide smile, and eventually, he figured out she was praising him, that the word
ramro
meant good.

During that first winter, when the blizzards, followed by the terrible avalanches, cut the village off completely, she had tended him gently and lovingly.

Gradually, he had healed. Not completely. Not the way he imagined he had been before, but enough so that by spring, he could walk with the aid of handmade crutches. Now the only help he needed was a cane.

At times he wondered why the villagers had not sought help for him, had not tried to take him to one of the bigger cities where surely someone would know who he was. But eventually he had realized that the villagers were simply wary of outsiders, although they did not seem at all wary of him. In fact, he was treated as if he were an honored guest. At first, he couldn't understand why. Later, he realized his status had nothing to do with him but everything to do with Reena and her position in the village.

During the long summer that followed, as he learned to communicate more easily, he became friendly with a young boy who seemed to be an orphan and was watched out for by several of the male villagers.

The boy, whose name was Jamuna, spent long hours sitting at his feet and teaching him words from the Nepalese language. Patiently, Jamuna would point, then say the word, and he would repeat it until he knew what it meant. In this way, he learned that he was an American and that the villagers revered Americans and considered them all to be rich and powerful.

After he'd healed to the point he could walk with the cane, he wondered if he should try to find his way back to some kind of civilization, but each time he considered going, he became frightened.

This village, these people, and especially Reena, were the only people he knew. Here he was safe. Outside, who knew? When he'd been hurt and lost his memory, maybe he had been involved in something illegal. He had no idea. Maybe, if he left the village, he would be arrested and thrown in jail . . . or worse.

If only he knew. If only he could make his way out of the maze and recapture the lost pieces of his life.

Then maybe, he could go home.

July, 1994 - Houston

"Amy?"

"Hmm?" She stirred from her comfortable niche in Justin's arms and twisted so she could see his face.

"Remember what we talked about after we got back from Las Vegas?"

"Yes." She'd been wondering when he would reintroduce the subject. Lately, she'd felt deeply contented and more than ready to move on to the next phase of their relationship.

He bent his head and kissed her, a lingering kiss that spoke not so much of desire as of love. "I love you so much," he whispered against her mouth. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You've been happy with me, haven't you?"

She smiled. "Yes."

His gaze clung to hers for a long moment. "Amy, I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me?"

She tried not to think about the last time someone had asked her to marry him. She tried not to remember her soaring happiness, and the eagerness with which she'd given her answer. It wasn't fair to Justin to compare him with Sam or to compare this situation with the other. They were nothing alike, and she was nothing like the girl she'd been two years ago, either.

Sam had been the love of her heart. She would never again feel the same way about anyone.

Justin was her friend and her lover, someone she cared for deeply, someone who would always be there for her.

She caressed his cheek. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I'll marry you."

His smile nearly broke her heart, it was so filled with joy. She wished she could tell him, without reservation, that she loved him the way he loved her, but she couldn't, and she wouldn't pretend.

"What do you think about October?" he said after another lingering kiss.

"October? But October's only three months away, and I don't get any time off in October."
And Sam died in October.

"I thought we could postpone a wedding trip until your Christmas break."

Amy involuntarily stiffened. She knew he hadn't realized the significance of a wedding trip over the Christmas break, but that had been when she and Sam were supposed to get married. "Justin," she said slowly, "I really want everything about . . . about our wedding to be different."

"Different?" For a moment, he seemed confused, then realization dawned. "Oh." He grimaced. "That was pretty stupid of me, wasn't it?"