Pictures of You (17 page)

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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

BOOK: Pictures of You
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“I'll stay for a few more minutes to make sure Paul doesn't tire you,” he replied gruffly, “and then we'll both find some place to sleep.” His tone relaxed a little as he turned to Paul. “You took a taxi in with the others? Then stay here tonight and we'll go back to Terra Vermelho tomorrow morning.”
Paul smiled affectionately. “I was hoping you'd say that. It's not fair for you to have Eva all to yourself, you know!” He flushed faintly, realizing that he had unintentionally put his foot in his mouth again. He rushed on, searching the room with his eyes. “Where's your camera, Eva? I thought photographers took advantage of every possible situation to get a picture!”
She smiled somewhat ruefully. “I guess I'm not
that
much of a professional. When the action stirs up, I get too involved in what's happening to think about taking pictures. It's only afterward that I realize the terrific shots I've missed!”
“I can't blame you. I think I'd be the same way! It takes a certain amount of ruthlessness to be able to carry on as usual during tragedies, or near ones,” Paul added, understanding as always, “and you aren't a ruthless person!”
She shrugged modestly at the subtle compliment, stealing a sideways glance at Roberto, who was eyeing her intently, before replying to Paul. “Oh, I don't know. I surprise myself sometimes at the things I photograph. But there was no way, for example, that I could have been able to photograph the landslide the other day. I didn't even stop to wonder where my camera was until the whole thing was over! And as for last night, well, I was pretty out of it.” She flushed, again looking to Roberto for some response. The only one she received was an angry frown which immediately drained all pleasure from the conversation, from her point of view.
“I guess I'll never win a Pulitzer as a photojournalist,” she finished, suddenly feeling tired again. Mercifully, Roberto picked up on her mood.
He rose, turned to Paul with instructions, and said tensely, “I'm going to speak to the doctor. Stay here with Eva until I get back, then we'll go. I won't be
long.” Without a further look at Eva, he left the room, a heavy silence descending in his wake.
Paul looked at Eva, who had closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. Even though he knew her feelings about Roberto, she didn't want him to see the extent of the hurt she felt. But, like his brother, he was too perceptive for her.
“Does it hurt that much, Eva?” he asked softly, as he sat down on the side of the bed.
She remained as she was for a long minute, until she was betrayed by the tears which seeped from under her closed lids to slide onto her cheeks. Unable to speak, she nodded in affirmative response, throwing her arm across her eyes to salvage whatever dignity she could.
Paul's gentle hands reached to her shoulders and pulled her against him, stroking her hair soothingly as she gave way to the quiet weeping. She held onto him, absorbing his comfort, until she gained control of herself enough to draw away from him and lie down against the pillow.
“Maybe you'd better wait outside for him, Paul. I don't want him to see me like this. He'll know right away!” She turned teary eyes to his in silent pleading. “Tell him I've fallen asleep. I really do feel tired.”
Then she mustered one final spurt of energy. “Paul,” she began in a tremulous voice, “Promise me one thing? Please don't tell him … about my … problem.” She couldn't quite get herself to verbalize her love. “It is
my
problem. It will be hard enough leaving here as it is, but I don't think I could stand his pity.” She implored him, “Promise?”
He searched her face intently for several moments, and Eva feared that he might refuse her. Finally, in a voice strangely sad, he agreed. “Sure, Eva. And don't worry. Things work out!” He smiled at her as he
smoothed her curls away from her face once more and kissed her on the forehead in a brotherly manner before going out into the hall to intercept Roberto.
Eva did not see either Roberto or Paul again that evening. The nurses made up for the absence by indulgently doting on her. She was brought some weak broth, the first food of any kind she had eaten since that fateful dinner. She was bathed. She was given a rubdown. The doctor visited her again, and she received, much to her relief, the final injection she would need.
She couldn't converse with most of her caretakers. The doctor in charge, as well as one of the nurses, did speak some fragmented English, but otherwise it was the interchange of facial expressions, hand motions, and alien words to which she was becoming quite accustomed.
She slept well that night. By the time she awoke the next morning, the sun was pouring into the room. It was the first time in quite a few days, mused Eva, that she had missed the dawn! Her body was back to normal, albeit a trifle weak. The doctors gave her a clean bill of health, and she was allowed a shower, much to her pleasure. The nurse on watch served her a huge breakfast, and then stood by as she ate every bit.
It was by now midmorning, and she had little to do but wait for Roberto to arrive to pick her up. Getting out of bed, she put on the thin robe over her hospital gown, and stood by the window to soak in the rays of the sun. Even through the pallor which had accompanied her illness, a pink-golden tan shone on her previously wintery pale skin, the physical brand of the fireball which had beaten down on the mountain passes.
Eva could see, even now, the mountains off in the distance. How fresh and inviting they looked, cloaked in the graceful haze of morning. She would miss them when she returned to New York. She would miss this
clear air and, yes, its frequently oppressive heat. She would miss the people she'd come to know during the past week. She resolved to visit Paul and Tom in Boston at some point. Maybe …
“Feeling better?” his voice was smooth, low, and velvety, as Eva twirled around to face him, marveling at how dashingly handsome he looked, freshly showered and shaven, even wearing the same clothes he had worn since the start of this ordeal.
“I'm fine,” she smiled, conscious of how simple she must look in the skimpy hospital robe. But, after all, she had no clothes with her here. As though reading her thoughts, Roberto held out a large bag which had been tucked under his arm.
“Here. I thought you might be able to use these. As ravishing as you look in my shirt, it won't do for you to drive back to Terra Vermelho in broad daylight.” Eva blushed as he went on. “I hope the sizes are right. These will help replace the ones you lost.”
She looked at him in surprise at his consideration. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “It really wasn't necessary.” She noticed that his disposition had improved dramatically since last night and assumed that some company more pleasing had revived him.
“To the contrary. It certainly was necessary. That shirt didn't hide an awful lot—I'm not sure I want that kind of temptation today,” he drawled at her in amusement. Whatever he did do last night, thought Eva, certainly had returned his mind to its typical track.
Suddenly angry at the jealousy bristling within her at some unknown evening's entertainment, Eva reached over and took the bag, snapping, “If it bothered you so much, you should instruct Maria to be less generous with your clothes. If you'll recall, I had other things on my mind at the time.” As further sign of her recuperation, her own penchant for sarcasm had returned.
He appreciated the improvement in her fighting spirit, judging from the grin on his face as he stood, arms crossed on his chest in his typical stance. “If you get dressed, we can be on our way,” he suggested, the faintest glint of sensuousness in his eyes.
“If you leave, I can get dressed!” she retorted, not sure how far she could trust either him or herself, and not feeling quite up to the test.
Roberto's gaze bore into hers, a continuing glimmer in their black depths. “As you wish. I'll be right outside the door if you should want me …” he invited, his smile mocking her modesty.
She waited until the door was firmly closed behind him before she removed the hospital garb and put on the new clothes he had brought. He guessed her size perfectly, choosing some blue jeans and a pink cotton shirt almost identical in its western style to those he always wore. He had even bought a pair of loafer-type moccasins of the magnificent Brazilian leather Eva had often heard of.
Looking at her image in the mirror, she had to admit to being pleased, illness or no illness. This trip had certainly changed her outward appearance almost as much as her inner one. With her gentle tan, these new clothes, and a strange air of maturity which she had never noticed before, she almost felt up to tackling New York again. What about Roberto? Her inner appearance would never be the same having known him, of that she was certain. With this thought fresh in her mind, an attitude of melancholy swallowed her as she headed for the door, Roberto, Terra Vermelho, and, finally, home.
Eva stood looking down at her opened suitcase, her mind on anything but the packing ahead of her. She still reeled from Roberto's absence. He had been so close to her during her illness. Now, to be deprived of his presence was tantamount to a cold-turkey withdrawal from a binding addiction.
That she was addicted to him she had known since the first day she laid eyes on him at the airport, when she had been immobilized by his gaze. Since the day in the mountains when she realized she loved him, she had known that the relationship was ill-fated. She knew that he could never love her, that she wasn't able to make him love her any more than she had been able to satisfy Stu. The difference between the two situations was that she loved Roberto to distraction.
Roberto had totally enthralled her. She loved the sight of him, the feel of him, the very smell of him. She loved his forcefulness and his decisiveness. She loved the tenderness he could show, as well as the violence that could shake him. No, she had known all along he
couldn't love her, but that didn't ease the pain she now felt.
She had even been prepared to give herself totally to Roberto that last night. Indeed, she would have made love to him willingly given the chance, for she knew that she would always treasure the memory of that lovemaking, even having to live the rest of her life without him. But it wasn't to be.
In a perverted kind of way, she had enjoyed being so sick, knowing that Roberto was with her, protectively cradling her, holding her hand, stroking her hair. If it was possible, she loved him more now, after her ordeal, than she had before. That was why she knew she was now doing the right thing.
When she had been discharged from the hospital the day before, it was with a refill of the medicine (which had been lost in the landslide) and with strict orders for the much-needed rest to return her strength. The ride back to Terra Vermelho, though long and tiring for Eva in her depleted state, had been innocuous enough, Paul's presence preventing any confrontation between her and Roberto, who had kept brooding eyes on the road for most of the trip.
The last time she had seen him had been yesterday afternoon, after their return, when she had been properly installed in the large bed upstairs and he had ordered her to sleep. She had done just that; when she awoke, he was gone.
Maria had brought her a simple supper—what little she could eat—and had fussed around her in an endearing way. She was an angel, Maria was, fluffing pillows, neatening the bed, presenting all of her clothes freshly washed and folded. Although they were still unable to communicate verbally, they could understand one another with expressions and gestures. And Maria, throughout her gentle ministrations, had chatted on and
on in the nasal flow of the language which Eva would have readily learned, given the excuse.
Despite Eva's protestations, Maria insisted on breakfast in bed this morning. She flitted around like a mother hen while Eva picked at the food, the former assuming that the lack of appetite was still due to her illness. Eva knew otherwise. Roberto's absence was devastating her, heart and soul, even as her body recuperated from its own devastation.
Since she had received the injections at the hospital and the fever had died, Eva no longer had the cloud of delirium to hide within. Rather, her mind had become more and more lucid and she was more and more aware of what had happened to her. Now she had spent the better part of the last twelve hours brooding about Roberto, the strength of her love for him and the absence of his love for her.
Her rational being told her that he had been unable to stay with her any longer than he had. She had certainly been aware of his growing impatience and the increasing tension within him, once she had passed safely out of danger in the hospital. His duty had been satisfied when he saw her back to Terra Vermelho. He must have been only too glad to escape into the arms of some paramour, after long hours of boredom by her sickbed. Her mind told her he would have to break away, even as her heart prayed otherwise. But to no avail. She had lost him. Of that she was sure. Yes, she repeated, the only course left to her was the one she was taking.
She had her return plane ticket to New York. She would pack now and take a taxi to Belo that afternoon. If she was lucky, she thought, she would miss Roberto entirely and thus spare herself an even greater pain than the one already gnawing at her.
As she placed each item of clothing, so thoughtfully
laundered by Maria, back into her suitcase, she lingered on the thoughts which flooded back with them. She would never be the same, she knew. It would be a long time before she could look at that T-shirt and jeans without recalling the mountains, the mine, and, particularly, the man who had been there through it all. She would have to pack these things away to avoid the tormenting memories; but then, she didn't really have much use for them at home, anyway.
Home. Where was home? New York? Yes, she had a home, actually two in New York. But they weren't “home” to her. This isolated Brazilian village seemed more of a home to her now, this charming little two-storied lime-washed cottage with its functionalism and its intimacy meant more to her than her luxurious country house in upstate New York would ever mean. She could stay here, forever, and be perfectly happy, away from the high pressure and hustle of the big city. Especially if Roberto were here …
Roberto … her heart ached at the thought of him. She wandered over to the window and stood gazing out at the mountains that had given her such solace. Her mind was miles away, in those mountains, by a waterfall, in Roberto's embrace. She was oblivious to all else as she permitted herself this one last mental indulgence. She made no effort to deny the tears beginning to gather, tears of a love found so briefly then lost forever.
The daydream was shattered by the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs and the door to her room bursting open in a sudden explosion. Eva jerked around in surprise, her tear-misted eyes riveting toward the dark form which stood in the doorway, an image of simmering violence.
“What in the hell do you think you're doing?” the voice bellowed at her, as the towering figure stepped
into the room, slamming the door behind him with such force that Eva felt its impact from where she stood. Before she could muster an answer, the angry interrogation continued. “I told you to rest. What's this? Haven't you put me through enough yet? Where in the hell do you think you're going?”
Two coal-black pits glared into the tear-filled green orbs that regarded him now with an unfathomable sadness. Her voice, when it finally came out, was barely more than a whisper. “I have to go, Roberto. I have to go …” she trailed off, lowering her head in defeat as the tears fell.
“What do you mean you have to go? You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Isn't that what you keep telling me?” he growled, though the force of his anger had blunted somewhat. “Isn't it?” he repeated, crossing the room to stand before her, demanding an answer.
Without looking at him, Eva nodded in agreement. Why was he punishing her this way? Couldn't he see she was in enough misery?
“Please leave me alone, Roberto. Just go away!” she begged.
“No!” he boomed back. “Not until I get some explanations. Just where in the hell are you going?”
Trying to show a determination she did not possess, Eva turned to the bed and began putting the last of her things into her suitcase. “I'm going back to New York. The expedition's over. I've got to get back. That was the plan all along,” she added.
Before she knew what was happening, he was by her side, tearing the clothes out of her hands and throwing them back onto the bed. Then he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him, roughly shaking her as he did so. “I've had enough of your sarcasm, Eva. I want some straight answers for a change!”
He had provoked her once again, and as distraught as she was, Eva wouldn't let it pass. Her anger seethed, “I've always given you straight answers, which is more that I can say for you! And as for my sarcasm, you deserve every bit of it and more for what you've done to me!” The words were out, to her horror; she couldn't retract them now even though it was the last discussion she had ever wanted to have with Roberto. What a stupid fool she was; now she would have to face his further probing.
There was a long silence before Roberto spoke. He had dropped his hands from Eva's shoulders and moved back to lean against the window frame. His stance, usually so casual, was tense now, physically hurt by her last statement, a reaction totally unexpected in a man of his confidence, she thought. Now, when he finally did speak, it was in a tone drained of all anger.
“What do you mean … what I've done to you?” His eyes never left her face as he awaited an answer.
Eva knew she'd have to come up with something. She didn't want to confess that he'd made her fall in love with him—she had done that all by herself. Instead, she blurted out defensively, “You've taunted me since I got here with suggestive looks and words. You've insulted me right and left, accusing me of looking for fast fun after my husband's sudden death. You have put me down as being unable to take care of myself …” She knew there was a bit of truth in that last one, after the mess she'd made of the last few days.
“I suppose you're right,” he admitted softly, much to Eva's surprise. “I have been rough on you,” the tenderness in his voice tugging at her hopelessly, “but you asked for it. Showing up the way you did, staring at me with those captivating green eyes of yours, looking so damned beautiful all the time!” The hint of
huskiness which Eva knew so well was in his voice and she bristled in self-defense.
“Don't, Roberto!” she screamed, putting her hands to her ears to block out his words. “I can't take it now. Please leave me alone! Don't you see, you're doing it to me again!”
“Doing what?” his voice came back, calm and clear.
“Trying to seduce me! Please stop! I can't fight you, Roberto. Just let me leave!” she begged, tears once again streaming down her face.
Silently he approached her, raising his hands to her face, gently wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “Is that what you thought I was doing? Trying to seduce you? You fool, I've spent most of the last week trying not to seduce you! Can't you see that?”
The tenderness in his voice was too much for her. The touch of his hands on her face had begun the stirrings within her. She shook her head in denial of his words, whispering, “It's happening again … ,” as she raised pleading eyes to his. Every last bit of reason fought back the impulse to fling her arms around his neck, invite his kisses, to give herself totally to him. Resist, she ordered herself one last time! She broke away from his light grasp and moved to the window. The sight of the mountains soothed her, as she knew they would, giving her the strength to finally tell him the truth. Softly, she began, keeping her back to him.
“When I first came here, I only knew I had to get away from New York. I couldn't think there; I was unable to put the pieces of my life back together. Then I saw you at the airport and something moved inside me. It kept growing and growing, each time I saw you. Even when I hated you for what you said and did to me, it kept growing. Then, up in the mountains, I couldn't deny it any longer. I knew what I felt would
only hurt me in the end just as it's doing right now. I knew I had no business even looking at a man as I looked at you, with my husband so recently dead. I couldn't help myself, Roberto. I didn't want it to happen. Please believe me.” Choked with emotion, she could say no more, but put her fist to her mouth to prevent further release of the anguish she suffered.
The room was so quiet that Eva had begun to wonder whether Roberto had left, when the sound of his footsteps nearing her sent a tremor through her. It was all out now, she thought. He could see for himself what a fool she had been! Maybe now he would leave her alone to her private misery.
With her back to him and her teary eyes downcast, she couldn't see the sparkle that had come to his dark eyes and the softening of features which moments before had been stern and drenched with fury.
“Do you know what you want, Eva?” he asked with a tenderness and, indeed, a vulnerability which took her by surprise.
She turned to face him now, raising still-moist eyes to his with utter conviction. Her voice, a pleading whisper, came from the very depth of her heart.
“I want you to love me … as much as I love you …” she broke off, abruptly lowering her head in humiliation, no longer able to face him. Quietly and totally beyond her control, the tears burst out afresh and her body was racked by silent sobs of a deep and searing pain.
Roberto's tone was so low that Eva didn't catch his words at first. “I do, Eva! Oh, I do!” he murmured, a slight catch in the usual steadiness of his voice. Slowly, she raised her head in disbelief. The face which gazed at her held none of the disdain, mockery, or even self-assurance she had expected. Rather, she saw eyes that
mirrored the same love, the same self-inflicted anguish, the same need which were in hers.
Her astonishment was too much for Roberto. He burst out in a laugh of relief, amusement, and pure emotion. When he stopped, he gently took her face in his hands and brushed her forehead with his lips.

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