Skin Deep (19 page)

“Garland.” Kathy put her arms around her and dragged her to her feet. “That’s enough. Come on, let’s go. She’s still stunned, everyone,” she said in a louder voice to the crowd. “I’ll take care of her. Sorry to trouble you.”

“Trouble them? Kathy, what are you—”

“Here’s your quilt, underneath you. It’s fine.” She handed it to Garland and propelled her the rest of the way down the street to the gallery, muttering to herself.

“Christ, Garland. I run out to the bank for a minute and get to see my best friend nearly…” She bit her lip, fumbling with the key to unlock the gallery’s door, and opened it.

“Wait a minute. What about poor Mrs. Shirley?” Garland tried to cling to the doorframe but Kathy was too fast for her.

“There isn’t anything you can do about her,” she said and shoved Garland inside. “Come on, sit down. You’re whiter than a ghost.”

Garland let her push her down on a bench. “Of course I am! A little old lady tries to run me over—I saw her, Kathy, she was aiming for me—and then crashes somewhere, and those people just stand there like it was a mildly interesting show on TV—”

“What did you want them to do? Somebody had obviously already called the police.”

“But—”

“Garland, shut
up
.”

“Um...sure, Kathy.” Her friend’s voice had been so full of compressed anger and fright that there was nothing else she could say.

Kathy stared down at her for the space of several seconds, her face working, then closed her eyes. “I should call Rob Mowbray to have a look at you,” she finally said. “Make sure you’re all right…”

What if he’s down trying to help poor Mrs. Shirley?
she nearly said, but didn’t. “You don’t have to bother. There’s nothing broken or anything. I just feel a bit bruised and dizzy, that’s all.”

Kathy looked relieved. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be seeing him tonight anyway. If something doesn’t feel right I’ll get him to check me over.” Gingerly, she felt her head again. An icepack would be helpful but she didn’t need Rob for that. “If anyone needs to see a doctor, it’s that crowd out there. And anyway, don’t you think it’s the police we ought to be calling?”

Kathy didn’t look at her. “And report what?” she asked quietly.

“What do you think? That a car just tried to…” she trailed into silence. That a car driven by a woman who was probably critically injured or maybe even dead by now had tried to run her over? Was she
positive
that Mrs. Shirley had tried to hit her? What if she’d been having a heart attack and couldn’t control the car?

“You’re shivering. Reaction’s setting in.” Kathy snatched up a hand-woven Irish mohair throw from a pile and wrapped it around Garland’s shoulders. “Stay there and I’ll make you some tea.”

Garland nodded and drew the blanket closer as Kathy disappeared in the back of the store. Her left hand had a nasty scrape across the back, her head pounded like a kettledrum, and she felt like she’d been tossed into a dryer with a couple of bowling balls, but other than that she’d survived being hit by a car unscathed. It seemed astounding. Completely beyond reason.

“Hey, no tears. You’re all right now.” Kathy came bustling back, holding out a steaming mug. “Drink some of this. It’s sweeter than you like but you need the sugar. I wish I had some booze to put in it too but that can wait till you’re home.”

“I could have been k-killed.” Garland folded her cold fingers around the mug.

“But you weren’t, were you?” Kathy’s voice was cheerful, but Garland thought she saw a wariness in her eyes. “So what were you doing down here, anyway? A quilt? No, wait a minute. Drink some of that and then you can show me.”

“It’s the la-latest Garland Durrell Quilt of the Month.” She took a gulp of tea and set it down next to her then unwrapped the package she realized she was still clutching and draped the quilt over her lap. “It’s for April. I’m calling it ‘Spring’.”

Kathy didn’t say anything.

“Kathy?”

Kathy used a word even more colorful than her usual repertoire. “Damn you for making this one, Garland Durrell, because I’m damned well going to have to blow all the damned commission I’ve earned from you and then some because I have to own this damned quilt. No one else is going to get their damned hands on it.”

Garland laughed shakily. “Gee, I’m sorry you don’t like it.”

“It’s one of the best damned quilts you’ve ever done!”

She folded it and held it up to Kathy. “If you like it that much, it’s yours. I’m not going to sell it to you, of all people.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” But Kathy’s eyes were gleaming as she reached for it.

“Yes you could. Take it.” She chuckled weakly. “Though I don’t know. Considering what just happened, maybe I should call it ‘Equinox’ rather than ‘Spring’.”

Kathy had been refolding the quilt. Now she nearly dropped it and stared in horror at Garland. “No. For Christ’s sake, no. How did you—” She closed her mouth and set it in a thin line. “Spring. It’ll be called Spring. Now come on. You need to get home and put your feet up.”

* * *

Rob had already heard that someone had had a fatal accident downtown that day—a heart attack while driving—but he hadn’t heard Garland’s connection with it. He insisted on giving her an impromptu physical when she arrived at his house for drinks before their pizza-and-movie date and scolded her for not calling him immediately that afternoon.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she protested. Good thing she hadn’t told him what it seemed like—that poor Mrs. Shirley had been trying to hit her.

“Well, what do you think you’ve done right now? You’re important to me, in case you hadn’t noticed. If you ever get so much as a stubbed toe and don’t call me, I’ll…”

She grinned at him. “You’ll what?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Tie you up and beat you with an ostrich plume, most likely.”

“Ooh, I’m terrified.”

“Good. Drink up—doctor’s orders,” he said, handing her a glass of wine.

Garland accepted it and wandered over to the sliding doors that led out to his deck. Below it spread one of the many small but deep glacial ponds that studded the Cape. A mist of green, like a gauze veil, hung over the trees and undergrowth around the edges of the pond, and she thought of her Spring quilt and smiled.

“This is a great location. You must love it here,” she called over her shoulder.

“It is a pretty view.” Rob stood behind her.

“Very pretty. Do you swim in the pond in summer?”

“I wasn’t talking about the pond.” He patted her bottom.

“Hey, watch it, Doc!” Garland tried to keep her discomfiture out of her voice. “That must be one of the oldest lines in the book.”

“What can I say? Go with the tried and true. Besides, I have a strong appreciation for feminine loveliness. Especially yours.” He slid one arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

Rob’s embrace didn’t feel all that strange...at least, it could have felt worse. Maybe the last few weeks of taking it slowly between them had begun to pay off. She took a breath and made herself relax against him. “Anyway, you’ve got a fabulous view. It’s always been dark when I’ve been here before. I guess spring is finally getting here.”

“Mm-hmm.” He nuzzled her ear. “Do you realize it’s been almost six weeks since I brought dinner to your house that night?”

“Is it six weeks? I hadn’t really thought about it.” Six weeks, then, that Alasdair had been with her. She tried to remember life before him and could only dredge up vague memories of the Chestnut Hill house and the interminable meetings with her lawyer. Alasdair and her new life here were inextricably bound together. “Poor Alasdair,” she said aloud.

Rob stiffened. “I was thinking more about us having spent a lot of time together in these weeks,” he said.

“Oh, yes, that too. It’s been wonderful. I was so afraid that I’d be lonely these first months but I haven’t been. Thank you,” she added.

But Rob’s mood seemed to have changed. They didn’t say much in the car on the way to Gianni’s pizzeria, which made her feel bad. Why had she immediately thought of Alasdair when it was Rob she should have been thinking of?

So when they arrived at Gianni’s and Rob ordered them Chianti and a large “Kardashian” pizza—too much of everything—she laughed and tried to be light-hearted and cheerful. At the movie theater—an old one-screener with red velvet curtains and baroque ornamentation that showed classics and foreign films in the off-season—she snuggled close when he draped his arm around her shoulders. When they went back to his house after the movie and he invited her in for a nightcap, she smiled and said yes. And when their discussion of whether Cary Grant had been better at comedy or action drama had slowed and he took her glass of wine, set it on the coffee table, and kissed her, she closed her eyes and cooperated. Or so she thought.

But after a few minutes of soft, exploratory kisses, Rob pulled away from her and sat with slumped shoulders. “It’s no use, is it?” he asked, not looking at her.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That. Kissing you. You don’t pull away, but you’re not really there, either. I’ve started feeling like I’m just kissing your body, and that you’re somewhere else. And it’s always me who starts it, too. I thought that maybe by now…”

“Six weeks,” she said quietly.

He looked at her and his furrowed brow smoothed. “Yeah, six weeks. That’s almost forever, isn’t it?” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, Garland, I’m acting like a horny fourteen-year-old. Six weeks of closer proximity doesn’t mean that you’re as in love with me as I am with you.”

There. He’d said it. Rob was in love with her. Here was validation that she was still attractive and desirable. She should be swooning in his arms, if only from sheer gratitude at his proving Derek Durrell wrong.

Instead she heard herself saying in a too-sincere voice, “It’s not that I don’t want to love you, Rob. It’s…I’m not even formally divorced yet, you know. It’s not final for another little while. So I guess it still feels strange…sort of not quite right…I don’t know…”

He took her hand—her left hand—and stroked the ring finger. It still had a slight ridge from all those years of wearing Derek’s rings—the plain gold wedding band and modest diamond engagement ring that had been replaced every few years with something larger and more ostentatious. They were all in her jewelry box now, their icy glitter forever muffled in a small manila envelope under a tangle of chains and baubles she never wore. She would sell them and give the money to a women’s shelter.

“Is it Derek,” Rob asked, “or is it something else?”

“Something else?”

“Like—” He met her eyes then looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that. So when is your divorce final?”

“May first.” The date had been floating in the back of her mind, quiet but ever-present. After May she would be still be herself, and yet different.

“All right, Garland Durrell. I’ll behave myself and back off until May first. But after that date, you’re fair game. And I’ll have you in my sights.” He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Assuming that you don’t tell me to get lost, it’s going to be an all-out campaign. Just so you know.”

Garland rested her forehead against his cheek. His arms felt strong and warm around her, and she could sense his desire, held in check for now but very much there, simmering below the surface. She so wanted to respond to him, to give him what he wanted, to want what he wanted. To love him. When Alasdair left, maybe she would.

Because surely Alasdair wouldn’t still be with her then. Most of the wounds on his body had closed, and the worst ones on his feet were healing rapidly. He and Conn wouldn’t stay with her forever, even if the thought of their leaving made her throat tight with sadness. They had their own lives to live.

“I understand,” she said.

Chapter 11

H
e had guessed they were looking for him. Now he was sure of it.

Alasdair sat chin in fist and watched the small group of seals swim back and forth in front of Garland’s house, just as they had for days. Were they seals or selkies or something else? Mahtahdou’s minions had been known to take on the shape of seals—his oldest brother had died when he mistook a group of Mahtahdou’s creatures for his own warrior.

But he didn’t dare step outside to have a closer look. If he left Garland’s house he would be unprotected. And if those were Mahtahdou’s creatures and not his folk…he shuddered and turned away, and hated himself for it. This was what he’d been reduced to: a cowering, craven shell of his former self. Torture and exhaustion and guilt had laid him low. While his body was almost healed, his spirit still languished. He needed to build it up again, to be a warrior again.

So why didn’t he take his courage in hand and show himself to the seals? Most likely they were his folk: it was daylight, which Mahtahdou’s creatures usually shunned. Were Ider and Dynas, his best fighters, among them? What would they do if he ran down the grass and onto the beach, splashing awkwardly into the water like a human rather than a true selkie?

No matter how healed his body was, he was still only half a selkie without his skin. Mahtahdou might as well hold his right arm hostage. How could he lead his people again without it?