The Rocky Road to Romance (11 page)

Steve rested his back against a wooden tub of geraniums and looked at Daisy. “You're getting ready to kick me out of your life, aren't you?”

“I need two months to myself.”

“And then?”

“I don't know.” It wasn't an entirely honest answer. True, she didn't know for sure how she'd feel in two months when the burden of her doctorate degree was lifted from her shoulders, but she suspected she'd buy a can of furniture polish for his kitchen table and beg him to marry her immediately. She glanced down at the ring on her finger and when she spoke her voice was low. “I'd like to keep the ring.”

A smile softened his mouth. “I suppose that's a good sign.”

He stayed very still against the geraniums,
but it was a relaxed, contented sort of stillness, Daisy thought. Their eyes locked, and a visual caress passed between them. “I love you,” she told him.

“There's all kinds of love,” he teased. “Am I going to have to wait two months before I find out what kind of love we're talking about?”

“You could spend the night with me and in the morning you can draw your own conclusions.”

It was much more than he'd expected, and he had no intention of wasting his opportunity. The kitchen table had been exciting, but this was what he'd really wanted. He'd wanted the chance to make love to her. He wanted soft lights, candles, lots of time, lots of privacy, and a comfortable bed where they could spend the night locked in each other's arms.

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she pulled back. “There's a catch,” she said.

“I'm not surprised.”

“I need time to think, and I need to get my dissertation done. I don't want to have to worry about your secret weapon. After tomorrow
morning my body is off-limits to all of your sneaky, subversive maneuverings.”

“So this is like a last meal for a condemned man?”

“Something like that.”

“I'll take it.”

She didn't have candles, but the lighting in her bedroom was dim. A small table lamp with a periwinkle shade filled the room with soft light and dusky shadows. The double bed had been hers as a girl. The comforter was white and fluffy. The sheets were smooth with age, their big pink flowers faded to pale shades of rose. A small television sat on a cherrywood dresser. The only other piece of furniture was a padded rocking chair.

She drew the curtains closed and felt shy as she faced him. Their previous lovemaking had been so explosive, it hadn't left time for nerves or self-conscious fumblings. There were great advantages to fast lovemaking, she suddenly realized. There were advantages to total darkness, nitrous oxide, and abstinence, too. She'd had fantasies of peeling her clothes off in an erotic strip, but now that the moment was
upon her she was paralyzed with stage fright. She found herself fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt and rolled her eyes in disgust.

Steve kicked his docksiders off and slid onto the bed. He arranged the pillows behind his back, took the channel changer in his hand, and turned the television on. “You look like you're thinking about jumping out the window.”

“Just one of many options.”

He patted the spot next to him. “I wouldn't do it if I were you. You'd land in the azalea bush. Your landlord would make you pay for a new one. Why don't you come sit here instead?”

“I'm a little nervous,” she said, crawling onto the bed.

“With good reason,” he told her. “Since I'm honor-bound not to use my secret weapon for two months after this, I intend to empty out the arsenal tonight.”

Daisy giggled. “You'll have to give me directions if you want to try anything fancy. My education is limited.”

She was wearing shorts, and her smooth
bare leg brushed against his, causing his pulse to quicken. He wrapped her in his arms and held her close. He wasn't going to rush into things this time, he told himself, but already he could feel desire burning into him.

He ran his hand the length of her rib cage, letting it rest on the curve of her hip. She tilted her face toward him and he kissed her, lightly, playfully. The kiss grew more serious, but he held back, seducing her slowly. He skimmed kisses along the side of her neck and told her he loved her. His hands were gentle as they ranged over her, heating the skin beneath her clothes. He kissed her again, deeper this time, teasing her with his tongue. The kisses were long and intoxicating, filled with love and promising passion. He felt her hands flatten on his chest, felt her press against him. He fought to move slowly but control was slipping away. He noticed with some satisfaction that
her
control had already completely evaporated.

He lowered her shorts slowly, inch by inch, his mouth following his hands, kissing and caressing. He felt her fingers curl into his shirt. He was half crazy with wanting her, but he
continued methodically, searching for the most sensitive places, memorizing the way she liked to be touched.

Clothes were discarded entirely and he allowed himself a moment to study her. She was pretty, he thought. And she was his. This had to be the result of all those years of meditating with his grandfather and trying to control his cussing. God had finally rewarded him.

He brought her to climax and then he followed.

When Daisy's breathing was almost normal she opened her eyes. Steve had shifted slightly to the side and was watching her. “I'm glad I didn't jump,” she said. “Do you still love me?”

“I will love you forever and ever.”

She sighed in contentment and walked her fingers across his stomach until she found what she was looking for.

“Whoa,” he said, “what are you doing?”

“You're not tired, are you?”

“I could use a few more minutes.”

She looked at the watch on her wrist. “I'll give you ten, and then it's
my
turn. This next
time we're going to see what kind of patience
you
have.”

 

Daisy slowly drove the black sports car the short distance between her town house and Steve's colonial, pulled into his driveway, and parked beside his new Hummer. She dragged herself from the car and walked bone-weary to the door. By the time she got there she was sick, her stomach rolling with each step she took. She hammered on the door and almost collapsed with relief when he answered with his cup of morning coffee still in his hand. Her eyes were large and teary, her blond bangs dark with perspiration. She knocked him aside with a sweep of her arm. “Get out of my way,” she cried, staggering toward the powder room. “I'm going to be sick!”

He swore under his breath and ran to get a towel. He soaked it with cold water and pressed it against the back of her neck when she emerged from the bathroom. “This is the fifth day in a row we've gone through this,” he said gently. “When are you going to hear about that damn dissertation?”

“Today. My adviser is supposed to call today.”

“It's just a dissertation,” he told her. “It's not worth getting sick over. If the committee doesn't accept it, the world will continue turning.”

She collapsed onto a kitchen chair. “I want it to be over.”

“You aren't the only one. I'm lonely. I'm tired of sleeping with Bob. The only time I see you is when you have to stop here on the way to work to get sick.”

“The nerves get to me first thing in the morning. And then I get carsick when I first start out.”

He looked at the engagement ring on her finger and wondered how much longer she'd continue to wear it. “You finished your dissertation weeks ago, but you're still avoiding me. Why?”

She slumped forward and rested her head on her arms. “Because I'm a mess. Look at me! I'm sick! I can't even handle the pressure of a doctoral dissertation. It hasn't been just five days that I've been sick. I've been sick for two weeks. I burst into tears for no reason at all. I'm
always tired. I'm a psychologist. I know the signs. I'm nuts.”

“Is that the clinical term? Nuts?”

“It's not funny. I thought everything would fall into place once my dissertation was done, but my life is a shambles.”

“Why didn't you tell me about this?”

“Because I hate being an emotional cripple; I hate you knowing I'm an emotional cripple, and I hate the idea of starting out a marriage as a mental case. I don't know why you're even attracted to me. Ever since we've known each other I've whined about my personal problems.”

“You've never whined. You might have babbled once or twice, but you've never whined.”

She pushed away from the table. “I'm feeling a little better,” she said. “I think I'll be okay now.”

He supported her with his arm and walked her to the door. “Why don't you take the day off?”

She shook her head. “It's Friday. I'll have the weekend, and then there's only one week left until Menken returns.”

“How's the new book coming along?”

“It's not coming along at all. I can't seem to find the energy to work on it. Maybe when this traffic job is done.”

“And the nursing home?”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I can't bear to go to the nursing home anymore. Mrs. Nielson isn't making any progress. She's just slipping away. Mr. Bender has pneumonia.”

He cuddled her tight against his chest and wished he could help her. He stroked the hair back from her face and kissed her forehead. “I can't make death and sickness go away, but I can be here at the end of the day when you need someone to talk to. It seems to me there's a lot of latitude in geriatric counseling. Maybe you need a job that deals with the problems of younger seniors…people like Elsie.”

That brought a weak smile to her lips. “There's not another person on the face of this earth like Elsie. What's going to happen to her job when Menken returns?”

“I don't know. I haven't decided yet.” He kissed her again and held her at arm's length. “Why don't you come over after work, and I'll
throw some hamburgers on the old barbecue grill?”

“Last time you tried to cook hamburgers you set your chef's apron on fire.”

“I think I've got the hang of it now.”

She loved him more than life itself, she thought. And deep down inside she wanted to believe things would work out. The natural optimist in her wanted to think she was suffering from extended PMS, or low blood sugar, or not enough fiber—and the proper diet would fix everything. A physical reason for her nervous stomach was much more acceptable to her than admitting she was an emotional basket case. “I've made a doctor's appointment for after work today. He's going to do some blood tests. Maybe I just need vitamins.”

“I'll go with you.”

“No,” she said dully. “I need to do this myself. I'll stop by on my way home. It should be around seven. Please don't start up the grill until I get here. I hate to think of you going up in flames and no one around to hose you down.”

Steve began pacing in his living room at eight. By nine o'clock he'd called the state police and three hospitals. Daisy wasn't in her town house, she wasn't with Elsie, and she definitely wasn't with him. He sank into a club chair and absentmindedly fondled Bob's head. Daisy had been so despondent when she'd left in the morning. He should have driven her in to work and insisted on going to the doctor with her, he thought. The damn woman was too independent for her own good. She was sick, and she needed help—his help. That's what love and marriage were all about. Marriage wasn't just the good times and the sexy nights; it was making chicken soup for your wife when she had a cold and sharing a box of Kleenex when Mrs. Nielson wasn't making any progress.

Last month Daisy had been the picture of health. She was a woman in love, and she was ready to get married. Something had happened in the interim to change all that. One day she'd been laughing with him over a pizza, then the next morning she'd burst into tears when he'd told her Bob was going to have puppies. He
looked down at the dog. It had never occurred to him to check the plumbing under all that shaggy fur.

“I made a mess of it,” he said to Bob. “Somewhere along the line we had a severe breakdown in communication. She just pulled away from me.”

He heard a car door slam, and he was on his feet. He had the door open before Daisy reached the porch. “Where have you been? It's after nine. Are you okay?”

Her eyes were wide and filled with tears. “I don't have PMS or low blood sugar or irregularity.”

He gripped her shoulders hard, not sure if he was supporting her or himself. “What is it?”

The tears spilled out and streaked down her face. “I'm…pregnant.” She sobbed. “We're going to have a baby!”

He was speechless. Air refused to leave his lungs. Little black dots floated in front of his eyes. There was a loud roaring in his head. “Baby?” he said. Then he crashed to the floor in a dead faint.