Home for a Soldier (13 page)

* * * *

Grace squinted to ease the sting in
her eyes as she finished chopping the onions and scooped them into the big cast
iron pot. She crumbled a stock cube over the vegetables, added boiling water,
and turned on the stove. Behind her, the dining table lay set for one.  A trio
of candles burned in the silver holder she’d found in the living room armoire.

Food and sex.
Watch out, Rory
Sullivan. I’m out to keep you.

When the front door slammed, Grace
arranged her face into a neutral expression.

“Smells nice.” Rory hovered on the
doorstep, the winter chill clinging to his features. As he unbuttoned his
overcoat, a dark business suit peeked underneath. His formal attire deepened
Grace’s curiosity over where he’d been.

“I’m cooking a casserole.” She arched
her brows. “Chicken, not rabbit.”

Rory threw her a baffled look then
broke into a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grace
gestured at the table. “I’ve got plenty, in case you’re not going out tonight. I
could set another plate.”

She dared not breathe while Rory
hesitated. “All right,” he said finally. “Thanks. There are a few things we need
to talk about.”

Grace turned to hide her relief,
making an excuse of rinsing her hands under the tap. “I’m done. We can talk now,
or over dinner.”

“Give me a minute to get out of my
coat and change into jeans,” Rory said and retreated into the hall.

Grace dried her hands and rushed out
to the bathroom. The chipped white tiles and ancient units needed modernizing,
but the mirror over the basin offered good light. She inspected her face,
blotted a stain of mascara from under one eye and combed her hair. The jeans
hugged her slim hips, and the white sweater clung to her small upright breasts.

In the kitchen, she laid another
place and waited for Rory at the table, leafing through the hand-written recipe
book she had found in a drawer.
Fredrick’s Favorite Lamb Stroganoff.
Fredrick’s Special Christmas Cookies
. Between the pages, she came across a
worn postcard of Renoir’s
Couple Reading
. A few lines in elegant script
filled the reverse.
Happy Birthday to Marjorie, mine forever
.
Love
from Fredrick. 
Her eyes misted as she admired the painting of two heads
bent together. The idea of a devoted couple growing old together fluttered like
a promise of a golden future inside her.

“Are you okay?” Rory crossed the
floor, clutching a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Grace touched a fingertip to
the dampness in the corner of her eye, worried that her mascara might smear.
“I’m just moved by these people.” She indicated the book. “Were Fredrick and
Marjorie your grandparents?”

“Yeah.” Rory sat opposite her. “My
mother’s parents.”

“They must have loved each other very
much.”

“They did. And they had enough love
for everyone. Unlike—” He stopped, shifted his shoulders. “But that’s not what I
wanted to talk to you about.” The papers rustled as he laid them on the table
and shuffled through the pack. “There are a few things I’d like you to sign.”

“Sign?” Grace repeated. Her heart
jolted. She’d married a stranger, and now he was asking her to sign documents.
Wild scenarios of deceit and mortal danger flashed through her mind. She brushed
aside the fanciful thoughts, but listened to her natural instinct for caution.
“I don’t really want to sign anything unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“I’m already occupying this apartment
on false pretenses.” She picked up a knife and rubbed the sharp edge with her
thumb, using the sting on her skin to control her nerves. “I want to keep any
evidence of our arrangement to the minimum.” She slanted him a wary glance. “And
I’m just being careful. I don’t want to create any financial obligations I can’t
meet. I had a difficult situation a while back.”

Rory contemplated her with an even
look. “Care to tell me about it?”

Graced stared down at her hands,
trying to keep them from trembling as the memory swallowed her in its bitter
mists. “You remember that I lost my job six months ago? I told you about it in
Vegas.”

“Uh-huh.” Rory nodded. “The company
you worked for went bust.”

“That’s right.” The knife clattered
to the table, and Grace drew a calming breath. “I was in the process of buying a
condo in Elizabeth. When I lost my job, the mortgage offer was withdrawn, and I
couldn’t go ahead with the purchase.” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she tried
to blink them away. “I forfeited my down payment, and without my salary, I
couldn’t afford to continue renting alone. That’s how I ended up in the shared
house in Jersey City.”

Grace reached for the table napkin
and used it to blot away the tears that threatened to run down her face. When
she saw the black smear on the white linen, something inside her snapped.
Panda eyes.
Couldn’t she do anything right, not even the simple act of
wearing make-up. She lowered her head into her hands and burst into racking sobs
as the pain of failure that she had struggled to contain for six months finally
burst free.

“Hey.” Rory bolted up and circled the
table to stand beside her. “It’s going to be all right.” His arms closed around
her, and he pulled her to her feet, burying her face against his chest, holding
her so tight the wool of his sweater tickled her skin.

Grace rocked against Rory’s
comforting embrace, hot tears spilling on her face. He stroked her back,
delivering warmth. He murmured consoling words, until her shoulders ceased
heaving.

“Is that why you agreed to marry me?”
he asked after her sobs had subsided.

“Yes.” Her voice muffled into his
broad chest. “I hated living with a bunch a people I didn’t know. I’m too
introverted. Too used to being on my own. When Debbie told me I could live in a
beautiful apartment rent-free for two years, I couldn’t resist. And when I
discovered she’d left you stranded at the last minute, I knew I could blackmail
you into handing over the family allowance, so I could start saving for another
down payment and think about buying my own place again.”

“Hey.” Rory leaned back, his dark
eyes smiling into hers. “You didn’t blackmail me, remember? You made me a
take-it-or-leave-it offer, and I took it.”

Grace exhaled a shaky breath. “Yeah.
Grace Clements, tough cookie,” she muttered, lowering her gaze. “Don’t mess with
me, buster.”

Rory caught her chin with the edge of
his hand and tilted up her face. “It’s all right, Grace. The papers I want you
to sign are for a life insurance policy I have from my employer, and the lease
for this apartment. I want to add your name to the lease.”

“But…aren’t you afraid that I’ll
double-cross when you get back? I could demand to keep the apartment when we
file for divorce.”

“I trust you, Grace.” Rory bent to
her. His lips touched her forehead, warm and gentle. “I know you won’t break
your word.” He released her and picked up the papers on the table. “I’ve also
made a will leaving you everything I own.”

Her stomach lurched at the thought of
Rory bleeding to death on some chaotic battlefield in a troubled country far
away. “Why me? Don’t you have any siblings? Parents? Close friends?”

“No.” His face grew shuttered. “No
siblings. And my parents—we’re estranged. As for my friends, you’re the most
deserving.”

She stared at him. “But you’ve
already offered me the family allowance, and you gave me those lovely earrings—”

“I’ve also ordered a television. It
will be delivered tomorrow afternoon. They’ll install it for you.”

“Why?” She searched his face.

“I’ve never bothered with one before.
I have an old turntable and a bunch of vinyl records in my room, plus a gadget
to watch network TV on my laptop.”

“I meant, why would you want to leave
anything to me in your will?”

“Because you’re my wife, Grace.” He
laid his fingertips across her mouth, as if to prevent any arguments on the
topic. “It’s natural that I want to look after you.”

Natural.
Grace held her breath. There was nothing natural about the situation, about the
wild beating of her heart, about the yearning that welled up inside her every
time Rory touched her.

“There’s one more thing.” Rory held
up a small white envelope. “I’ve written a letter to my parents. If I die, I
want you to mail it. But only if I die. If I’m injured, as long as there’s a
spark of life left in me, I don’t want them to know. Only send the letter after
I’ve taken my last breath.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Of course I’m not. I’m too stubborn
to give my parents the pleasure of hearing that I’m dead.” He grinned at her.
“Where’s that bunny casserole? I’m starving.”

The joke banished the dark
undercurrents in the kitchen, but as Grace hurried to lift the lid over the
bubbling pot on the stove and peek inside, she couldn’t help wondering what had
caused such a deep rift between parents and their only child.

Tell Laura I Love Her.

The song drifted from Rory’s room,
over and over again, until Grace thought she was going mad. After she had signed
the papers and stored them in the roll-top bureau in the living room, they sat
down to eat. The meal passed awkwardly, with Rory lapsing into long silences. As
soon as he finished, he thanked her and left the kitchen. Grace’s nerves coiled
tighter and tighter while she washed the dishes and contemplated the next step
in her plan.

A crazy plan, so totally unlike her.

Standing in the chilly bathroom,
Grace closed her eyes to block out her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t do
it. Even the short distance across the hall seemed like a gauntlet. She snatched
the worn white robe from the hook behind the door and yanked the sleeves up her
arms. She tied the belt into a flimsy knot, covering the bustier that crushed
her ribs and pushed up her boobs. The black pumps and silk stockings looked out
of place beneath the ragged hem of the robe.

Almost forgetting the camera, she
clicked a trail with her high heels over the parquet floor to her room and
scooped the Canon from the nightstand. She rushed out, not allowing herself a
chance to change her mind.

“Rory?” She knocked on his door.

Tell Laura I Love Her.
Grace muttered out a curse. She
knocked again and shoved the door open without waiting for a reply. If she were
in charge of the music, the song would be
Now Or Never.

“I’d like to take a few photographs
of you. Is that all right?” She raised the camera between her shaking hands.

“Sure.” Rory flicked a glance in her
direction but remained stretched out on his back, arms crossed beneath his head.
“Snap away all you want.”

Grace lined up Rory in the viewfinder
and focused the lens the way her sister had shown her. When she pressed a
button, rapid clicks burst forth as the camera took a series of three shots.

“That’s a professional looking piece
of equipment,” Rory commented.

“Debbie lent it to me. She is
studying fashion design and needs a good camera to take pictures of the models.”
Grace zoomed in, caught Rory’s eyes widening as the knot she had intentionally
left loose on her belt came undone, and the front of her robe fell open.

He stared at her, blinked, kept
staring. “Jesus, Grace. What are you wearing?”

She swallowed, uncertainty choking
her throat. “It’s my wedding present from a group of showgirls in Vegas. They
helped me with my make-up and gave me these clothes. It’s an outfit from a show
that ran last year.”

“Take off your robe,” Rory ordered.
He leaned up on the bed.

“I want you to have a photograph of
me.” Grace held out the camera. “This is how I want you to remember me. I want
you to think of me while you’re gone.”

“Take off your robe,” Rory repeated
hoarsely as he reached for the camera. He took a moment to study the controls.

“It’s set on automatic exposure, but
you need to focus.”

“I know. I’ve used one of these
before.”

Tell Laura I Love Her.

Grace froze. She tried to smile, but
her lips wouldn’t curve, not even if her life depended on it.  A shiver wracked
her body. The sapphire and diamond droplets danced in her ears, the cold metal
soothing her burning skin.

“Can we have a different record?” she
asked.

“What?”

“The music,” she told him. “You’ve
listened to that song for almost two hours now.”

“Oh.” Rory’s brows drew together.
“The turntable has auto repeat. I didn’t notice.”

He reached over to press a button,
and the arm skipped away from the vinyl disc. Silence filled the room, but broke
when Rory lifted the camera.

Battling the shyness that threatened
to suffocate her, Grace slid the robe off her shoulders and let it pool on the
floor by her feet. A flush covered her skin, and a fine trembling seized her
limbs, but she forced herself to stand firm. She turned away from Rory and
looked at him over her shoulder, chin down, strands of hair spilling over her
eyes.