Intimate Strangers (22 page)

Her separation from Roarke had given her time to think about him and her feelings for him. She loved Roarke and her love was going through a miraculous change. She was beginning to grow up. The time she spent alone was spent examining herself, getting to know herself. She was beginning to love Roarke with a new maturity, learning that real love, true love, was not selfish, was not taking all, giving nothing in return. Real love, mature love was giving, sharing, wanting the other person's happiness as much as your own, if not more. She had lain awake many nights and cried, tempted to call Roarke, to beg his forgiveness, to tell him she had at last grown up. She ached to tell him how much she loved him, ached with a longing for him that was overwhelming. But the letter she had seen in his office would come back into her mind and she just couldn't call him. She couldn't become his responsibility, his obligation, again.

Wearily Sara stood up, went into the bathroom, and looked into the mirror. She was whole again. Physically she was still the same, but the lost look was gone from her eyes, replaced by recognition. What couldn't be reflected in the mirror was the way she felt. She knew she was no longer the immature young girl Roarke had known.

Sara's face flamed in humiliation, remembering the stupid, childish things she had done to Roarke. Many nights when Roarke had done something that didn't please her, she had slept in the guest room with the door locked. This little ploy had worked for a while, but Roarke soon tired of that game. Later, on the nights she had spent in the guest room, Roarke had slammed out of the house and stayed out all night.

It soon became a vicious circle that Sara didn't know how to break. She started playing more games. She had flowers sent to the house with unsigned cards in them, hoping Roarke would assume they were from some unnamed admirer. Their fighting increased and rarely did they have any peace between them. It culminated that day in Roarke's office when she read the letters in the file.

Sara realized she was gripping the edge of the bathroom basin so hard that her hands were numb. Her neck was hurting from holding her head rigidly as she gazed into the mirror, hypnotized by memories that were flowing like a torrent through her brain.

She walked out of the bathroom dejectedly and threw herself onto the bed. Reaching out, she turned off the bedside light and stared into the dark space of the room. Memories flowed unchecked, and some of them were agonizing. She wondered how Roarke had put up with her juvenile behavior for so long.
But
, she thought,
that just proves he really didn't love me. If he had loved me, he would have tried to understand me and help me grow up but instead, when we weren't fighting, he indulged my every whim
.

If he would have just once treated me like an adult, maybe I would have responded like one. The only time he did respond to me as a woman was when we were in bed. If only once he would have told me to grow up, that he needed me as a woman, it might have made a difference
. Her hands flew over her eyes. But would it have?

She could see their marriage was doomed from the beginning. She had worshipped him like a hero and he had been her babysitter. Instead of changing as they grew older, they had viewed each other as the same undeveloped person they had married, so the marriage never matured. Roarke almost acted as though she were too stupid to understand the intricacies of his business, so he never shared any of his problems with her, and she had felt left out. They had trapped each other in the mold that had formed them years before.

Sara rolled onto her stomach and put her hands over the edge of the bed. She unconsciously ran her fingers through the thick carpeting. Roarke had seen their marriage as a solution to a problem and an answer that had soothed a dying woman.

Poor Grandma. I wonder if she knows what has happened to her happy solution
, Sara thought. Her grandmother had never told Sara that she was dying, although she had known her grandmother was ill. Sara would ask her repeatedly what was wrong, and she would tell her that it was an old complaint that bothered her occasionally. Sara was always reassured by that answer, therefore she was stricken and heartbroken when her grandmother died.

Roarke had been very gentle and loving with her. He stayed by her side throughout the funeral. After the services they'd driven to Annapolis and Sara had immediately fallen in love with its old-world charm and beauty. Sara smiled to herself in the dark, thinking of how she and Roarke had loved Annapolis and the fun they had had there.

On their second anniversary Roarke took a long weekend and they had gone to Annapolis to celebrate. When they arrived, they had driven passed the hotel where they usually stayed. Sara had been surprised and protested, but her protests died in her throat when he had presented her with the keys to the town house. "Happy anniversary, Sara, this is yours, the deed is in your name. It's your retreat when the world becomes too much." He had placed the keys in her hand.

They had spent the night there in sleeping bags. The next day they had gone shopping and she selected all the furniture for her new home. It was really hers! She had laughed and clapped her hands together, delighted that she had her own hideaway, like a child with a new dollhouse. Sometimes when Roarke would go away on a business trip, Sara would go to Annapolis by herself. At night she sat on the balcony off her bedroom and watched the lights of the distant boats bobbing out on the bay. She had made the town house her home away from home.

"That's were I'll stay," Sara said, sitting up in bed. "I'll go to Annapolis." She chuckled to herself when she remembered she had been going to do that before she had regained her memory. But the big difference now was that she could remember the address.

She didn't have to worry about money, her savings account was very healthy, so she could afford the upkeep on her own. Her father and Roarke's father had been partners in the construction company, and when her father had been killed, she had inherited his share, put into a trust for her to be administered by her grandmother. As the business had grown through Roarke's expert leadership after his father had died, so had her personal wealth.

At one time she had offered to sign over her share of the business to him, but Roarke wouldn't hear of it. The only thing he would let her do was give him her power of attorney to make all the business decisions, so she still received her share of the profits.

She would have to figure out how she could get to Annapolis. She was still a little fuzzy about the accident, but from what she could remember and from what Roarke had told her, her car had been totally demolished.

"I could rent a car," Sara said out loud again. Her voice echoed around the room and sounded hollow in the empty apartment.

Tears spilled over her lashes again. She didn't think it was possible that she could cry anymore, but she did. She had thought when she regained her memory that she would be whole once more, but without Roarke in her life, she would never be whole, she loved him completely.

The accident had changed her. It had been the impact that burst her from her cocoon, turning her from a child into a woman—a woman who knew she could love only one man—a man she could never have, a man who would never know that his childlike bride had finally grown up.

By the time dawn was streaking the sky, she had mentally gone over her entire life with Roarke several times. One of her last thoughts before she drifted off into a fitful sleep was that she had been so stupid, but he hadn't been much smarter. They were really both to blame for their failed marriage, just as Roarke had said.

When she woke up, it was late and her head felt thick and her eyes were heavy-lidded and swollen. She groped her way to the kitchen and made some coffee, and when it finished brewing, she sat in the living room waiting for it to revive her. But the coffee didn't do its usual job, and she thought a shower might help her feel better.

After her shower she went to the closet, wondering what she could find to wear temporarily. She'd have to return to the house and get some of her own clothes. She opened the closet door and was dumbfounded. These were her clothes! None of the clothes in the closet were Suzanne's. Suzanne had lied to her! Suzanne wasn't living here, all these clothes were her very own.

Sara was angry. How could Roarke love someone like Suzanne? Even when she couldn't remember Suzanne, there was something malignant about her. Was Roarke so completely blind where women were concerned?

As she dressed in corded jeans and a western shirt, she continued to mumble to herself about Roarke's stupidity. She was making the bed when she heard the doorbell ring. "Now, who in the world could that be?" she muttered to herself as she stalked to the door to answer it.
I hope it's Suzanne! If it is, I'm not going to let her know I have my memory back. I'll string her along until she gives me the right opening and then let her have it
, she resolved to herself.

Sara opened the door, prepared to do battle but was surprised to see it was Roarke's body filling the entire door frame. He looked extremely tired, his face was drawn, and his eyes were puffy. Sara wondered why he looked so bad. Could he have been out all night celebrating?

"May I come in?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Sara stood aside and motioned for him to come in. She didn't know what to say and a terrible sense of loss was clutching at her.

Roarke looked around at the open boxes and the pictures spread out all over the sofa. He sat down and picked up a picture that was lying beside him. "What made you decide to look through all this?" he inquired, holding the picture up so she could see it.

"I saw those boxes with my name on them in the closet and I dragged them out here to see what they were." Sara shrugged her shoulders.

"Did it help?" he asked tonelessly. Sara didn't detect the old sarcasm in his voice she had half-expected.

Sighing, she sat in a chair across from him. "Yes, as a matter of fact it did. I was reading through an old diary of mine and I've remembered… everything. After all this time I thought I'd never remember, but all it took was going through those boxes," Sara pointed to the things scattered around the living room.

"You remember everything?" He seemed to choke on the question.

Sara watched his face intently. It blanched white and then color crept up from his neck. There was no happiness, no love, nothing that would give her any hope of being able to straighten out this mess that they called their marriage. All her thoughts, all her conclusions were accurate. He didn't love her. Their marriage had been to make a dying old woman happy and consolidate a business.

Sara got up and started pacing the room. "Yes, I've remembered all of it, Roarke, all of it!" She couldn't look at him, she was afraid he would read the lie in her eyes. He wouldn't end this farce so she had to, and it was breaking her heart.

"I've decided to go to Annapolis. The place is mine and I need somewhere to stay. I have to make a new life for myself. I want a divorce. I don't want to be trapped in this marriage any longer." Sara glanced at him out of the corner of an eye and thought she could see his hands shaking. Was her news about wanting a divorce such a relief to him that he was having trouble controlling his excitement? Was he that much in love with Suzanne? Did the prospect of being able to marry her soon make him shake in anticipation? She had to quit torturing herself. This is the way things are between them and she would have to accept it.