Banjo Man (12 page)

Rick narrowed his eyes. “You said yourself that it was just a filler. It’s not a career … something you love.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t go off and do nothing for six months. I wasn’t brought up that way!”

“I’m not telling you not to do anything. Maybe out there you’ll find something you really
want
to do. I know that every year I think, ‘Here’s something else I wish I could do: paint, or write, or take
photographs, or learn to whittle or weave or spin wool—’ ”

“That’s because you’re an incurable romantic! Pie in the sky! What if I want to do something sensible that I’m already good at, like teaching school?”

“Great! Then teach school, and we’ll only hit the road when school’s out. There’s no problem.”

“Oh, yes, there is!” she flung back, tossing her head. “I just can’t think of what it is!”

She glowered at him, daring him to give in to the grin that lurked at the corners of his mouth.

And then she started to laugh, and the tension vanished like smoke. “What was that?” she asked, giggling against his shoulder.

“I don’t know. I think I riled that Irish temper of yours. I’m going to have to learn to watch for storm signals!”

“Hurricane warnings!” she teased back, then sighed. Exhaustion was starting to set in, creeping up from her toes. “You’re just a lot to handle all of a sudden.”

“Too much too soon, darlin’?” he asked softly.

“Maybe,” she whispered, hating to admit it, even to herself.

“Well, we’ll take it slow. Do you want to keep the room and stay over again?”

“You call that taking it slow?” she asked with a gasp. “No, I want to have a good gulp of brandy at that cocktail party, pile into that speedy Jeep of yours, and sleep on Ellen’s safe little couch for at least twenty-four hours straight!”

Rick gave her a sweet, lingering kiss, then bent his head and whispered into the silkiness of her hair, “All right, my darlin’. As my mother used to say, ‘There are no shortcuts to heaven.’ ”

Laurie had felt dizzy and faint all morning, through the staff meeting, the briefings, the research.

“You work too hard, punkin’,” Paula had cautioned kindly over sandwiches at lunch. “And you’re still taking everything so seriously. Remember, laugh a little more, at yourself, at me, at some of the stuffed shirts who come in here claiming omniscience. Anybody. But ease up, Laurie.”

The office gopher was certain it was the beginning of a new outbreak of Legionnaire’s disease, and kept to the far side of the room. Senator Murphy decided she was getting the flu and should go home and rest or her father would have his hide.

There was no sense trying to explain that it was simply a case of growing pains. She didn’t have the acne to go with it, so who would believe her?

Finally, drowning in well-intentioned advice, Laurie grabbed her blazer and fled the office in midday. She rode the bus along Massachusetts Avenue and tried to clear her mind, to sort out her
feelings and pull everything back into some kind of perspective. But, after Philadelphia, it was like trying to rake leaves in the middle of a tornado.

Rick Westin was without a doubt the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, but her life suddenly felt like a roller-coaster ride. How in heaven’s name was she supposed to know how to behave? Maybe there was a book she should read, a newspaper column, something!

“Miss?” the bus driver called over his shoulder. “Isn’t this your stop?”

Laurie’s head shot up, and her briefcase tumbled to the floor with a thud. “What? Oh, yes … thanks. I’m daydreaming again!” And she fled the bus and his amused stare.

After dropping her coat and case on a chair just inside the apartment door, Laurie headed for the kitchen. A cup of tea would revive her, she decided. Then maybe she’d straighten up the place and surprise Ellen. What was it the postulant mistress used to say? “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop!”

She laughed wearily and leaned against the wall. The thrumming ache behind her eyebrows called for sleep, not tea, not dusting. And it might be an even better way to keep her mind off that banjo man, just until she could catch her breath.

Envisioning a quiet room and a cool bed, she hurried into the bedroom.

Later, Laurie couldn’t be sure just what she’d noticed first: the fact that the room was very dark for the middle of the day, or the rustle of the sheets at her sudden entry,
or
the fact that the voice that sleepily asked, “Who’s there?” was definitely not Ellen’s! Perhaps it was all three at once that froze her to the spot while her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. There was Ellen, slowly awakening, lying right next to a man with tousled hair who
leaned on one elbow and looked at her through half-closed eyes.

“Oh … oh. Oh, my,” Laurie moaned through the icy fingers that she had instantly slapped over her mouth. Then, not pausing for another second, not giving her knees a single chance to play their silly game, she spun on her heel and fled the room.

Ellen followed a minute later, tying her bathrobe around her waist and then rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Ellen …” Laurie dropped down on the couch and stared, not trusting her voice, her hands hidden in her lap.

Ellen managed a contented half-smile. “Oh, it’s all right, Laurie. I’ve been awakened before in the middle of a good dream.” She walked over to the coffeepot and plugged it in. “I sure needed that sleep, though. Three nights on the graveyard shift in E.R. is enough to put hair on my chest.”

“Ellen!” Laurie’s strained voice bounced off the wall, her eyes darting back and forth from the bedroom door to Ellen.

Ellen looked up with a start and caught her glance. “Oh, Laurie, I’m sorry. I guess I’m too sleepy even to think straight. That’s Dan—the resident I told you about, the one doing the rotation in Kansas City. Well, he’s back, and everything’s fine now between us. And he’s dying to meet you.”

Blissfully unaware of Laurie’s reproving silence, Ellen poured herself a cup of steaming coffee and came to sit beside her friend. “But what about you, kiddo? What are you doing home in the middle of the day? Lose your job already?”

“Ellen!” Laurie’s voice was harsh. “What is he doing in there?” Her accusing finger jabbed at the door.

Ellen’s dreamy sense of contentment vanished.
Suddenly she realized that Laurie was not only shocked, she was angry.

Staring at Laurie, she lifted one eyebrow slowly. “Well, he’s not taking a bath, that’s for sure. Or playing tennis. He happens to be sleeping. He’s been working day and night for ten solid weeks, just flew in, and he’s exhausted.” She threw the words at Laurie like darts. “I brought him home, fixed him a hot meal, and we went to bed. Together. Dan and I. We’re in love, Laurie. And we
loved
each other.” She watched Laurie closely to make sure the words were registering.

They were. Laurie’s face turned quite pink. “But here, Ellen? Right here?”

“Would you have preferred we take a motel room?”

Perhaps if she hadn’t been so tired, she would have handled it differently, but Ellen was losing her cool. “Laurie, I love you. And I know adjustments are hard—I had some problems coming out after just six
weeks.
But good grief, wake up and smell the coffee! Things are different now. You’re not eighteen. You’re a woman.
I’m
a woman!”

Laurie shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “But Ellen, you shouldn’t be—”

“What? What shouldn’t I be, Laurie? Shouldn’t be in love? Dammit, I am fully capable of being responsible for my actions. I don’t need you to try to be responsible for them too. You’re going to have your hands full just taking care of Laurie O’Neill!”

Laurie began to protest, but Ellen wasn’t finished. “You know, I wonder if it’s really me you’re judging or if you’re so mixed up about your own emotions that you’re condemning me because
you
feel guilty!”

Laurie sat still, Ellen’s words hitting home with the sureness of truth. She felt the hot burn of tears
on her cheeks. “Oh, Ellen, I’m so sorry. After all you’ve done—”

In a second Ellen was beside her, her arms around Laurie’s shaking shoulders. Her voice was soft and soothing. “It’s all right, Laurie. It’s okay. I know it’s hard to sort it all out.”

Laurie brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. “Maybe if I hadn’t met Rick so soon, if I just could have taken one thing at a time, it would be different. But now … now I want him so much, and I’m so confused!” She forced a laugh. “It was so much easier back in Father Leo’s moral theology class, wasn’t it? All the rules were there in that fat little book: what you do and what you don’t do.”

Ellen laughed aloud at the memory of the elderly Franciscan priest who had lectured morals to them
ad infinitum
during their postulancy. “Remember this one—‘how far can you keep on doing what you’re doing before it becomes a don’t?’ ”

“And ‘when tacit agreement becomes just as bad as the real thing’!” Laurie was laughing out loud now too. “Remember that crazy song we made up to remember who could marry whom and when?”

A flood of hilarious memories engulfed the two women, and the tension between them was broken.

Laurie smiled softly. “You know, there was something nice and neat and secure about that little book, though, having everything there in black and white. It’s too bad life isn’t like that, isn’t it?”

Ellen heard the panic creep back into Laurie’s voice, and nodded sympathetically.

“Well, I suppose it’s more complicated this way, honey. But as for me, I’m not much of a black-and-white person. I find that adding color to life makes it a lot more interesting. There’s a lot to be said for taking responsibility for your own actions, and
using the good sense God gave you to figure out what to do with your life.”

Laurie stood and walked over to the window. “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

She drew her finger along the sill and rubbed the dust absentmindedly between thumb and fingertips. Her thoughts had sped elsewhere—to Rick. One thing was sure: Rick Westin would never fit into a neat, boring, black-and-white life. And that wasn’t what
she
wanted either. So the first thing on the agenda, even before she could figure out her love life, was to figure out who the heck she was!

Biting her lip and mustering her courage, she took the first step.

“Ellen, I’m moving out.”

“What?” Ellen jumped up. “No, Laurie, you don’t have to do that. Just because—”

“Just because I need to stand on my own two feet, that’s why!” She grinned and glanced at the closed bedroom door. “It’s not because of today, honest. At least not in the way you think. Ellen, when I needed you these past weeks to keep me from drowning in this big city, you were here, and you’ve been great! But I think I have to learn how to swim by myself, and the tide is right!”

“Are you sure about this? You don’t usually make such snap decisions.”

“Didn’t. This is the new me!” Laurie’s eyes sparkled. “And you can’t tell me it won’t be nice to brush your teeth without having to do it over someone’s shoulder, and to be able to open your closet door without first moving a suitcase and three shoe boxes.”

Ellen laughed. “I guess we have been a little cramped, but I haven’t minded, Laurie. I really haven’t!”

“I know you haven’t. That’s what makes you such a special friend. And I hope you won’t mind
when I come pounding on your door when I get lonesome.” She glanced at Dan’s jacket lying across the back of the couch and laughed. “On second thought, maybe I’ll call first.”

Rick loved the idea of her moving out on Ellen … and in with him!

He met her right after work Tuesday afternoon, and took her straight to his place.

“No, Rick,” Laurie said, standing in the doorway, her fists pressed firmly against her waist. “No, you don’t understand at all.”

“But it’d be perfect, darlin’.” Rick grabbed her hand and drew her into a warm, sun-drenched living room. “Look, just look at all this room! And there’re bedrooms all over the place, a kitchen big enough for cookin’ haute cuisine or Texas chili or collard greens—or all of ’em at the same time!”

Laurie had barely had time to enjoy the wonderful look of his solid oak furniture and the mountain crafts that were everywhere in the room—the spinning wheel at the hearth, the wooden carvings of an old man and woman standing proudly beside the window, a dulcimer and old banjo hanging on the muted wallpaper next to a colorful Appalachian
quilt—before Rick was dragging her to the back of the narrow Georgetown town house.

He pointed enthusiastically through the kitchen windows to a small brick patio, completely surrounded by flower beds and neatly trimmed bushes. A wide rope hammock swung lazily from two trees, and a large mutt reclined beneath it. “See? It’s perfect! Man’s best friend. A place to lie your tired body down after a long day and let the senate dust blow away. A place to bring out a banjo and sing with the birds. A place to—”

“Rick,
no.
” Laurie reached one hand up to stop the flow of words.

“Wait, Laurie. Look at this!” And he drew her up a narrow flight of stairs, polished and smooth and covered with a fine old runner. Four rooms fanned out from the small hallway upstairs. “See? Just like I said. Why, we could put your things in here.” A lovely old four-poster bed met her gaze as he pulled her into the doorway. “We could move that bigger dresser in if you wanted or—”

“Stop it!” Laurie’s laughter softened her words. Her eyes swept from the bed to Rick’s tall, wonderful body, and she mustered up all the strength she could find buried beneath her burgeoning emotions.

“Rick Westin, this is silly, and you know it. I’ve got to find my own place.”

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he stepped back, pouting like a disappointed child. “Hm-m-m, you’re determined, aren’t you?”

Laurie slipped her hands into the pockets of her pants. “Yep, I am, Banjo Man. And a lot of that determination I owe to you, for helping me feel so strong and good about myself.” She leaned against the smooth, worn bedpost. “It’d be so easy to fall back into having someone else make the decisions
for me, care for me. But I can’t—I won’t. I thought you’d be proud of me.”