Queen Bee Goes Home Again (39 page)

I had a wonderful white, finely woven straw picture hat with gorgeous, convincing magnolia blossoms at the base of the crown. And a flattering white cutwork dress, long and slim, to go with it. Miss Mamie had said I looked like an angel in it.

Let Connor put that in his pipe and smoke it.

Connor laughed, a warm, consoling sound. “Just get there early so you won't be blocking anybody's view.”

“Okay. What's early?”

“Nine. The service starts at nine-thirty, but it's Easter, so we're jammed, and folks come early to get a good seat.”

“Nine it is.” Fed up with his dragging his feet, I said a quick, “Bye,” then hung up, already scolding myself for agreeing to go when it might only make me miserable.

 

Sixty

That one phone call, and the anticipation of seeing Connor again rattled me so that I almost blew two major assignments. But somehow, I managed to suck it up.

Finals were only a month away.

English would be a take-home essay, which made things easy. Anthropology was open book in the classroom, divided up into teams, so my notes would come in handy.

Human biology was multiple choice—a big help as a memory jogger—and lab would be easy, because the instructions for each experiment would be written out.

American government was multiple choice, too.

Speaking of the government class, I'd gotten into trouble when we were studying opinion polls, and the teacher put us in groups and asked us to come up with an unbiased question, then a weighted question on a variety of assigned topics. Unluckily for me, the passive-aggressive girl from anthropology was in the group. So when we came to the public health topic, I suggested for the biased question, Should illegitimate children qualify for Medicaid?

That plump little nineteen-year-old bowed up and huffed, “My sister has two babies with no daddy.”

I resisted the urge to ask, “And how's that working out for her?”

Instead I just shrugged and said, “See? The question made you mad, didn't it? That's what the teacher wants us to see, how wording can play on people's emotions and affect their answers.”

Clearly, she didn't make the connection, because she scowled at me thereafter.

We won't even discuss the abortion questions. God forbid you be a right-to-lifer in college these days.

I'd come to the conclusion that the only people you could safely ridicule in college were white people (especially the founding fathers) and Evangelical Christians.

Who knows? Maybe prejudice against the Christians was cumulative retaliation for all those rudely unannounced weeknight “visitations.”

I mean, if God can soften a person's heart to the Gospel, He can do it when you're polite and call first, wouldn't you think?

But I have to admit, it didn't feel good being branded a bigot and a hypocrite simply because I held traditional views about marriage and sexuality. Not that I tried to force them on anyone else. I'd really been working to leave the judging to God. Every time I slipped, I remembered
forgive
.

And every time I thought of Mary Lou Perkins, I thanked God and prayed that He would give her peace.

The main point is, my midterm exams and assignment grades erased my fears about incipient Alzheimer's, but strained my brain so much, I wasn't any good at keeping up with the rest of my life. So I buried my head in the books and pretended nothing was wrong.

But life has this annoying way of jerking me back to reality.

 

Sixty-one

On Thursday night the week before Easter, while I was working late on a chapter report for English, I heard heavy footsteps coming up my stairs.

I finished my sentence on the keyboard before I hit save, then got up to see who it was.

I looked out the little pane in my front door, but didn't see anyone.

Oh, gosh. What if it was Miss Mamie, and she'd fallen?

I took off the chain lock and turned the bolt, then opened the door and stepped across the landing to look down the stairs. Nobody there, thank goodness.

Then I turned around and almost had a heart attack. Phil stood inside with a big picnic hamper. He must have been hiding against the wall and snuck in behind me.

“Lord, Lin, don't faint on me,” he said as I staggered inside and collapsed into a chair. “I only wanted to surprise you, not scare you.”

Right. I glared at him, but didn't speak.

As if the place were his instead of mine, Phil plopped down in the club chair across the coffee table and placed the basket between us, then opened it, sending heavenly aromas into the room.

“Terra di Luna,” I breathed out. One of my favorite restaurants in Buckhead. Even after eleven years, I could still recognize the aroma.

In my case, the way to my heart can very well be through my stomach.

Phil grinned, an expression he'd rarely used when we were together. “I hope you still like it.”

Like it? I still dreamed about it.

He pulled out a bottle of rosé covered with condensation. “Cold and sweet, just like you like it.”

And he hated it.

Then he took out a shiny food carton with the restaurant's logo, then another and another and another, identifying their contents as he did. “Chopped salad for two. Chicken piccata over capellini for you, lasagna for me, and grilled eggplant.” He finally got to the bottom and gingerly extracted a plastic cake dome that protected two six-layer slices of Terra di Luna's famous zabaglione cake with Italian creme icing, and fresh berries and custard between the light, tender white layers. Orgasm on a fork.

Putting aside my reservations about Phil's sneaky “surprise,” I rose slowly so my blood pressure wouldn't take a nosedive, then went for plates and utensils, my better instincts overwhelmed by gluttony.

Phil knew me, all right.

While he served up our dinners, he asked about Uncle Bedford and the funeral, then Daddy and Miss Mamie and Tommy. And, miracle of miracles, he actually paid attention when I answered.

By the time we were done, I had a slight buzz on and decided to rinse the dishes and leave them in the sink till morning. I didn't sense Phil's coming up behind me till his hands slid gently down my upper arms. “Now, that's a change,” he purred into my ear, moving closer to reveal his desire for me. “You never left a dish unwashed before.”

To my horror, my body responded. “I'm not the person I was then, anymore,” I told him as disjointed flashes of our sex life attacked me. Our physical relationship had been the one good thing in our marriage.

Part of me wanted to run, but a small glimmer guilted me into giving him a chance.

Phil turned me around, then cupped my face and kissed me, gently at first, then deeper.

Nothing. No
kiss, kiss, kiss.

Nothing like the way Connor kissed me.

With that, Phil and I became a threesome, with Connor in the middle.

I stepped back. “I think you'd better go.”

He seemed genuinely crushed. “Lin, I ask you again, and I won't give up till you say yes: please marry me. We can go tonight.”

Oh, right! Can we say, clueless?

And if he were sincere, he'd have left, as I'd asked.

“Give me a chance to prove to you I've changed,” he repeated for the jillionth time.

“I just did.” I looked down, then met his troubled gaze with one of resolution. “It's over, Phil. I don't know how things with Connor will work out in the end, but the one thing I'm sure of is that you and I are done. Have been for years.”

“That isn't true! It can't be.” He drew me to him, pinning my body against the counter, his kiss demanding, his hands possessively roaming over my body.

I tried to pull my mouth from his, but his hands closed, hard, around my skull, preventing it. I screamed, but it was lost inside him.

Lord, please don't let him rape me,
I prayed as my knee shot up between Phil's legs with a wisdom of its own.

At last, he released me to double up and bellow in pain.

“Help!” I shouted, racing for the door. I managed to get it open for one more plea before he grabbed me and pulled me back inside kicking and calling for help.

“Lin, please,” he said, his calm belying the force of his arms around me. “We were happy together once. We can be again. I just want a chance to love you. Not to force you. You mean so much to me, now that I've understood what I did to you, how awful it was. Please calm down, before you scare Miss Mamie.”

No lights came on in the big house.

Calm down,
my sensible self commanded.
Pretend to forgive him, so he'll let go of you.

But the still, small voice overrode my survival instincts with,
Forgive him,
reminding me of Connor's sermon.
Forgive and be free,
the memory of his voice echoed.

I went stone-still in Phil's grasp.

That stopped him.

“What?” he said, clearly perplexed.

“I forgive you.” The amazing thing was, I meant it.

A weight lifted, and all fear went with it. “I forgive you,” I repeated, reveling in the peace it gave me.

His expression made me think he was going to slap my head off, but instead, he let me go and took a step backward, toward the door. This time, his voice was vulnerable. “What?”

“I forgive you,” I said softly, almost overcome by a wave of sympathy. “For everything, even this.” Poor sad, misguided Phil, trying so hard to find happiness in sex and money and putting things over on us all.

I thanked God heartily that I wasn't like him, or still bound to him in any way.

Phil backed to the door, then grasped the knob behind him and turned it. “Why?”

“Because I love you. Not like a wife, but as a person. Just as you are. God commands it.”

Struggling not to lose control, Phil stepped forward, but only to open the door. As a cold breeze swept past him, he turned to glare at me, backing onto the little landing. Then we both heard hard, pounding footsteps ascending the stairs and looked toward them.

Connor!

“No,” I cried as he vaulted toward Phil, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him hard against the flimsy railing.

“What did you do to her?” Connor demanded. “I heard her scream.”

I grabbed his wrists and tugged. “Connor, it's okay. Let him go!”

He turned as if seeing me for the first time, but he didn't let go of Phil.

They'd both go through the railing if he didn't back off.

“It's okay,” I repeated. “He scared me, but it's okay now.”

“What did he do to you?” Connor demanded.

I cupped his cheek. “That doesn't matter. I forgave him, just like you told me to in your sermon.”

As if he were scalded, Connor let go of Phil.

When I saw the guilt in Connor's expression, I stepped between them and put my arms around the man who had come to my rescue. I could feel his heart beating fast and strong against his chest, and his muscles roped for combat. No way could I physically restrain him. “Let him go, Connor,” I pleaded. “It's over.”

He did. But his body was still primed for a fight, so I pushed him inside, then turned to close the door. I said to Phil through the crack, “Go, before he comes after you.”

“Whatever happened to turning the other cheek?” Phil accused.

Forgive him
.

I did, but I still slammed and locked the door. I mean, I'm not an idiot.

I turned to find Connor with his arms stiff, braced on the counter, his brow against the cabinet, eyes closed, panting from adrenaline.

 

Sixty-two

Lord help me, I couldn't stop myself from going to him and drawing him close again.

At that very moment, my fight-or-flight reaction fizzled. “I'm glad you're here,” I said into his chest as he hugged me back so hard I could barely breathe.

“What did he do to you?” he asked, his voice dead. “I have to know.”

“No you don't,” I told him. “What happened doesn't matter. I forgive him. End of story.”

A flame of anger ignited inside me. Did Connor think he could blast back into my life that way, ask me such a question, only to leave me hanging again?

He stared into my eyes, then kissed me fiercely, possessively, too much like the way Phil had kissed me.

No!

Before I could pull free, he wrenched his mouth from mine. “If anything had happened to you…”

Though what had happened was my business, and mine alone, I relented and said, “He arrived unannounced with dinner from my favorite restaurant, then kissed me, and nothing happened. So I told him it was over.”

A flash of jealousy crossed Connor's face.

I'd have thought that having Connor come to my rescue and care enough to be jealous would make me feel like a fairy-tale princess, but it didn't. I just felt rotten about the whole thing. Except for the forgiveness part, the devil had been well served by the whole incident. And I'd given in to the compulsion to grab on to Connor twice without a second thought.

I eased out of his arms and gently pushed him away.

He meant it for evil, but God meant it for good,
my still, small inner voice said about Phil.

Right. Well, I was sick and tired of waiting for a sinner and a saint to determine what I'd do with the rest of my life. There wasn't that much of it left.

Then I saw the fear in Connor's expression and relented. I exhaled heavily, then said, “I've been telling Phil it's over since he turned up on New Year's, but he won't listen.”

I straightened to face the man who'd said God had made us for each other, only to abandon me. “I'm tired of waiting for you two to make up your minds. Phil says he's changed and showers me with gifts, then disappears for weeks at a time. He knows where I am, but I have no idea where he is. So I can't begin to tell if he's truly turned his life around.”