Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) (5 page)

“In other words, he submits, and that’s about it.”

Paul nodded.

“The good news is that when he yells we know he’s involved.” Absently, Joy slipped off her sandal and dipped her foot in the water. “This lackadaisical attitude concerns me.”

“He’s all but given up.”

“I refuse to accept that,” Joy murmured. “A man like Sloan Whittaker isn’t a quitter. I think he’s afraid to show he cares simply because he cares so much.” Joy felt Paul’s gaze and glanced up.

“I think you’re right.”

Joy was glad Paul agreed. “I’m betting on it.”

Clara ambled toward them, wiping her hands on the ever-present apron. “Mr. Whittaker told me to say he’s ready for you now.”

“I’ll be right there.” Paul sat up and stretched his arms high above his blond head. “See you in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be ready.” Joy waited until he was out of view before dropping the terry-cloth cover and stepping into the water. It gently lapped against her waist. Lowering her lashes, she lay back, paddling her hands at her sides to keep afloat. Even with her ears in the water she heard the approach of Sloan’s chair. But she remained with her back to him until she was certain Sloan was in the water.

As she straightened, their eyes met and clashed across the distance of the pool. Her attention was diverted by Paul, who waved.

“See you later, Joy.”

“Joy?” Sloan spit out the word distastefully. “Your name is Joy?”

She wouldn’t rise to the barbed comment.

“Talk about irony.” His laugh lacked warmth. “A torturer named Joy. It’s almost hysterical.”

Little he could say or do would intimidate her. She’d verbally battled with him far too often to fall prey to another needless confrontation.

“Are you ready?”

“No.” He held himself stiffly against the side of the pool. One elbow was elevated onto the tile rim, supporting his weight.

Undeterred, Joy swam to his side. Viciously, he lunged for her, his fingers gripping hold of her upper arm.

She attempted to shrug free, but his grasp was surprisingly strong.

“I hope it hurts,” he said cruelly.

“Let go.”

“What do you know of pain?” he said with a sneer. “How can you possibly know what it is to lie in a hospital and pray to God you’ll die just so the agony stops?”

With her jaw clenched, Joy tried to pry his fingers loose. Already she could imagine a bruise forming.

Sloan tightened his grip. “What could you know of pitying looks and lost dreams?”

She struggled and demanded a second time, “Let me go.”

“Does it hurt? Good, it’s supposed to.” His eyes darkened with emotion. “Be objective about it. Isn’t that what you said to me? Your turn, Miss Miracle Worker.”

Boldly, she met his gaze, but to her horror, tears welled, blurring her vision.

His hand relaxed, setting her free. As she pulled away, she heard him utter a frustrated groan. Twisting her upper torso, she dove under the surface. The water felt cool against the flushed skin of her face. When she thought her lungs would burst, she surfaced and found herself at the far end of the pool. An angry bruise had turned her skin black and blue. Her arm throbbed.

“Paul,” Sloan shouted. The muscle-bound man appeared almost immediately. “Get me out of here,” he muttered thickly.

Paul glanced at Joy, who nodded and turned her back to the pair. Sloan had asked her what she knew about pain. It was funny enough to make her want to laugh.

Purposely she avoided Sloan at lunchtime. Clara took his meal in to him and returned with a worried frown. “Didn’t so much as touch it. His favorite soup, mind you.”

Alone at the kitchen table, Joy released a broken sigh.

“And you’re no better,” Clara accused. “You’ve done nothing more than rearrange the food on your plate. What’s going on around here?”

“I guess it’s an off day. Everyone’s entitled to those now and then.”

“Off day?” Clara clucked. “The air around here feels like an electrical storm passed through. And Mr. Whittaker and his son fighting? I don’t know when that’s happened.” She wiped a hand across her brow, and her face narrowed. “And you look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

Joy gave the older woman a weak smile. “You’re right,” she said with determination. “I need a change of pace. Don’t fix dinner for me tonight. I’m going out.”

“I’d say it’s about time.” Clara nodded approvingly. “Pretty young thing like you should be out having fun every night.”

Joy laughed. Young she couldn’t deny, but pretty was something else.

She wouldn’t be able to avoid Sloan forever, but she gladly relinquished her duties that afternoon. Without explanation, Paul seemed to know she needed the break. When she took part of the day off to go shopping, no one questioned her. At the time she was hired, the Whittakers had told her to set her own hours.

Although Joy browsed around several shops, she didn’t buy anything. It felt good to get away, if only for a few hours. She checked the newspaper and drank coffee in a small café. A movie she wanted to see was playing, and Joy decided to take it in later.

Clara was busy in the kitchen peeling apples when Joy returned.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“It was nice,” Joy admitted, and handed the woman one long-stemmed rose. “This is for you.”

“Joy.” She took the flower and sniffed it appreciatively. “What are you doing buying me flowers?”

“Well, actually, I didn’t buy it,” Joy admitted grudgingly. “I picked it from the bush outside.”

Clara laughed and gave her a spontaneous hug. “I knew the minute I saw you what a dear
girl you are.”

Joy sat on the countertop, dangling her feet over the edge and talking to Clara for several minutes. She had the impression Clara wouldn’t allow many the privilege of invading her home territory so freely. She stayed in the kitchen until dinner was almost ready.

Luxuriating in a bubble bath, she hoped to wash away some of the unpleasantness of the day. A smile came to her. Could one ever wash away hurts and pains? Dear heavens, she was becoming philosophical.

The sky was painted a bold shade of pink, and Joy paused to admire the vibrant color as she slipped a full-length silk robe on and tied the sash.

How could the night be so beautiful when the day had been so ugly? Joy mused. Without thought, she wandered onto the balcony. The palms of her hands rested against the painted rail.

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

Joy froze.

“Sometimes when I sit here and stare into the sunset, I can almost forget.” The whispered words were spoken so softly that Joy had to strain to hear.

The sound of Sloan’s chair told her he was coming toward her. She didn’t move.

A finger traced the pattern of the ugly bruise on her arm. “Did I do that?”

“Yes,” she answered without turning.

“Dear sweet heaven,” he muttered, his voice suddenly thick. “You must hate me.”

“No,” she replied softly, and turned her face to him. “I don’t.”

Again he ran his index finger along the bruise. His touch was gentle, almost a caress, as if he wanted to blot out the pain he had caused.

“I’m going out for a while tonight,” she announced.

He dropped his hand. “A date?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Just a movie. I’m going alone.”

His hands rolled the chair back a couple feet, then swiveled it around, presenting her a view of his back. “Have a good time, Joy.”

A frown creased her brow. She found it hard to understand this man. “Thank you.”

He hesitated for a second before wheeling into his room.

Joy watched him go. Sloan regretted the incident that morning with his father and later with her in the pool. He was a man driven to the limits of his endurance. Mentally, Joy pictured him standing at a crossroads. He would choose either life or a living death. Unconsciously, she brushed the hair off her forehead as a smile came to her. Interestingly, she had viewed him standing, and not in a wheelchair. Why such a nonsensical thing should lighten her spirits she didn’t know.

Joy was whistling on her way out the front door. She hadn’t been hungry and had skipped dinner. All of a sudden she felt ravenous. There wasn’t time to stop and get something before the movie, so she decided to wait until after.

The show was a light comedy that made her laugh, and heaven knew she needed a reason to smile.

On the way down the coast highway, Joy pulled off at a fast-food restaurant. She hadn’t paid much attention to the kind of food until she stepped out of the car. Fish. The tantalizing aroma of deep-fried fish and crisp french fries filled the air.

Joy read the menu and absently wondered if Sloan knew about this place. He would have, of course, since it was only a few miles from the house. But how long had it been since he’d tasted something like this?

“Can I help you?” An eager-faced youth leaned over the counter.

“Yes.” Joy’s eyes didn’t leave the menu that was painted in boldface letters over the grill. “I’d like a double order of fish and chips. And a Pepsi.”

“Will that be all?”

“No, make that two orders,” she added impulsively.

“To go?”

“Pardon?” Joy’s puzzled gaze found the girl’s.

“Do you want to eat here or take out?” she asked with an impatient breath.

“Take out.”

Even as she paid for the meal, Joy wondered what had possessed her to do anything so foolish. No use lying to herself—she’d bought the second fish order for Sloan.

The lights to his room weren’t visible from the front of the house. Joy carried the grease-stained white sack into her bedroom and immediately went out onto the balcony.

His draperies were open, but the room was dark. He often sat alone with the lights off. Sometimes she thought he preferred it like that. He could hide in the shadows, but not in the light.

Tentatively, she knocked on the sliding glass door and opened it just a crack.

Silence.

“Are you awake?” She whispered the question, not wishing to disturb him if he happened to be asleep. Her eyes adjusted to the dim interior and searched the room. He sat in the corner, his chin propped up by his fist.

“How was the movie?”

“Great.”

His chuckle was filled with quiet humor. “Why are we whispering?”

“I don’t know.” She slid open the door. “I didn’t have dinner, so I stopped off at a fish-and-chips place up the road.”

“Not Mobey Jake’s?”

“I didn’t notice the name, but it had a neon whale flashing off and on.”

“That’s the one. The food’s terrific.”

“I brought you an order back, too.”

An uncomfortable pause followed her announcement. “Isn’t that fraternizing with the enemy?”

“Could be,” she agreed, with a secret smile. “But my mother once told me I’d catch a lot more flies with honey than vinegar. But then, my mother never met you.”

A contented feeling moved through Joy as she sat up in bed and stretched. Linking her fingers high above her head, she arched her back and released a long, drawn-out yawn.

She couldn’t remember an evening she’d enjoyed more than the one spent with Sloan. He had chuckled when she relayed the movie plot and the antics of the characters. It was the first time Joy had heard the sound of his laughter. The feeling it had produced was warm and pleasant. She had seen him grit his teeth and muffle groans as she manipulated his legs, but never his amusement. How much more she preferred dark eyes that crinkled with laugh lines to ones that struggled to disguise pain.

She dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt. Some of the fish fillets had been left over, and she wanted to see if Long John would eat out of her hand. Great strides seemed to have been made with Sloan, and she was eager to see if the injured gull was willing to accept her as his friend.

“Good morning, L.J.,” she greeted as she let herself into the yard. The gate latched behind her as she stepped to the food bowl and bent down, extending her hand. “See what I’ve got here? Fish,” she answered her own question in reassuring tones. “And I happen to know gulls are particularly fond of fish. I’m not so sure about fried fish, but I think you ought to give it a try.”

With an ambling gait that reminded her of Clara Barnes, the bird took a step in her direction.

“Obviously you’ve got keen eyesight,” Joy encouraged her feathered friend.

When the bird was only a few inches away, she edged closer, wanting him to take the fish from her. Almost immediately Joy realized her mistake. The razor-sharp beak sliced into the back of her hand instead of the food. Blood gushed from the open cut. Inhaling a sharp breath, Joy dropped the fish and jerked upright. In a protective movement she held her hand to her body and hurried out through the gate. Blood seemed to be everywhere. The gull had apparently cut a vein. The pain was sharp as she quickly stepped back into the house. Clara wasn’t in the kitchen. Joy was grateful she didn’t have to make unnecessary explanations. From the flow of blood, it
looked as if she might need a suture or two.

Intent on escaping unseen into her bedroom, Joy nearly stumbled over Sloan, who was wheeling down the wide hallway.

“Joy, why the rush?”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, pressing her hand to her shirt. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”