Waiting for Lila (11 page)

❧

Before Delilah stepped out of the elevator, she surveyed the lobby quickly, checking for booby traps. Booger and Addie, the diabolical duo, were out there somewhere, waiting to pounce on her. If Delilah could make it across the lobby to the door opening onto the terrace, she would be home free.

She almost made it. She was two steps away from the glass door when Glory appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her arm. "Delilah, wait up. I have something really exciting to tell you."

Delilah smiled ruefully. At least it was Glory, the sane one. Suddenly Delilah remembered everything that happened the evening before. The scene with Alan seemed like something from the distant past. All the sweetness of Bill lay between now and then.

"And I need to apologize," Delilah said, grimacing. "I shouldn't have said all those things to Alan last night. He probably hates me."

"Don't be silly." Glory smiled enigmatically. "We both love you dearly. Because of you, Alan and I talked. You were right, Dee. And I couldn't have been more wrong. I was torturing myself for nothing." She paused, then said quietly, "I don't know what we're going to do—I mean about having children. Alan mentioned adoption for me, not for him. But I just don't know. I know only that whatever happens, Alan and I are together, and that's all that matters."

Glory gave her head a slight shake. "This is not what I wanted to talk to you about." She paused dramatically. "Dee, we did it. Alan and I did it."

"Most married couples do," Delilah said, raising one slender brow. "But they don't usually go around telling all and sundry."

Glory laughed. "That's not what I meant. Alan and I have found your man. I get the prize," she said gleefully. "Not only is this man a doctor, he's the keynote speaker, which means he's someone very important. Alan is bringing him along to meet you."

Delilah bit her lip. She wasn't interested in seeing anyone except Bill. He was out there now, waiting for her on the terrace. Waiting for her. She would have to make her excuses quickly. Maybe if she . . .

At that moment Alan came into view. And the man walking at his side was Bill.

"Dr. Delilah Jones," Alan said when they reached the two women, "I'd like you to meet Dr. William Shelley."

"Dr. Jones," Bill said, reaching out to pull her into his arms. "Good to meet you."

Bill dipped his head and kissed her, hard. He smoothed his fingers over her buttocks, cupping them as he brought her body close to his. Delilah melted against him, returning the kiss eagerly. How could she do otherwise? These were Bill's arms. Bill's lips.

After a long, heated moment, she pulled back a fraction of an inch.. "Dr. Shelley." Her husky voice was openly, outrageously sensual. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you. Very, very pleased."

Glory glanced at Alan. "I have a feeling we missed something."

Alan smiled and put his arm around his wife. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised."

Seconds later Booger and Addie appeared from the direction of the coffee shop, dragging a man between them.

Bill, his arms still around Delilah, glanced at the newcomers and smiled. "Hello, Booger . . . Addie. I'm afraid you're too late. It's me."

"You?" Booger said. "Who found you?"

"Alan and I did," Glory told him. "Which means I won. You can bow anytime you like."

Addie turned to Booger, speaking around the man who still stood dazed and helpless between them. "I told you someone-whose-name-we-won't-mention was all wrong. Why don't you ever listen to me?"

Booger frowned, furrows appearing in his forehead. "Wait a minute. Just hold on. I really don't think this is legal. Alan's only an honorary member of the group. I'm almost positive that makes him ineligible. Let's find Jack and check this thing out."

"We're from Texas, a community property state," Alan said smugly. "That means we share everything, including Glory's title as superior member of the group. If you want to talk about legality, what about—"

Bill took Delilah's arm, and they began to casually ease away from the group, walking slowly until they were certain that no one had noticed. Then they ran.

Outside the hotel he pulled her into his arms and whirled her around. "Feel that? That's freedom, lady. We're free at last."

She laughed, then nipped his chin with her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me you were the keynote speaker? Glory says you're someone important. Are you?"

He shrugged. "I didn't think so, but I guess I am," he said, smiling. "After all, the conference coordinators sent me a basket of fruit . . . and God sent me you."

After a moment of total silence she punched him in the shoulder. "Will you please stop saying things that make me go all sappy?"

"Turnabout's fair play. I look at you and go sappy." He inhaled deeply. "Now, are you ready for an entire day of unadulterated top-of-the-line fun?"

After renting a car, Bill and Delilah drove to the nearby La Quebrada cliffs to see the divers, young lean men who plunged more than a hundred feet into the water of a rocky cove below. The divers had to time their falls exactly because the small cove was shallow except when the waves surged in.

The crowd of tourists was like a single entity that held its breath when it saw a dark-skinned body poised at the top of the cliff, then when the diver plunged, arms spread like a featherless bird, the audience exhaled in wonder and relief.

It was thrilling to watch, but, for Bill, not nearly as thrilling as watching Delilah, sharing her excitement, sharing her happiness.

After leaving La Quebrada, they spent the rest of the day simply wandering the streets of Aca-pulco, going where impulse took them, finding excitement and pleasure everywhere they turned. Twice they caught glimpses of Booger and Addie in the crowd of tourists and had to duck out of sight until the danger had passed.

Throughout the day Bill kept his eyes on Delilah. There was nothing he could ask for that gave him more pleasure. He wanted to watch her for the rest of his life. He wanted to watch her and hold her and make her happy.

Her past was like an ever-present pain in his gut. The night before, after they had gone to his room, she had played down what she had been through in those years on the streets, but he knew they must have been a living hell for her.

Occasionally Bill treated kids who lived on the street, the runaways and the castaways. They were always looking over their shoulders, their eyes haunted and haunting, always suspicious of anyone they came in contact with. The thought that Lila had been one of those desperate children ate at him. It was no wonder she was so wary now.

His love had missed the carefree excitement of her teenage years. She had missed the laughter, the giddiness.

Today he wanted to make it up to her, if only a little. For this day he wanted to give back part of what had been stolen from her.

❧

Delilah lay in Bill's arms, staring at the dark ceiling as she listened to the gentle rhythm of his breathing. The warmth of their lovemaking was still with her, and she didn't want to lose it. She didn't want to fall asleep, knowing that sooner or later the dream would return.

All those ghosts, she thought, shivering slightly. All those poor, tortured ghosts.

When Bill felt her shiver, his arms tightened around her. "I know you're not cold," he said. "What's wrong?"

"I thought you were asleep."

"And that made you shiver?"

She laughed softly. "No, silly. I guess a goose must .have walked across my grave."

He was silent for a moment. He had to get her to talk. He wanted—he desperately needed—her to share everything with him. "Lila, please?"

"It's nothing, Bill. Nothing at all." She turned in his arms so that she was facing him. "Sometimes, just before I come fully awake, I have a dream that is not too pleasant."

"Tell me about it."

She shook her head in a movement that was negative and final. "The dream is about problems from the past. Old problems that really don't matter anymore."

"They matter if they still bother you. Share your dream with me, sweetheart," he said urgently. "Split up all the pain you've been carrying around so long and give me half, then it won't be so heavy for you."

Delilah framed his face with her hands, rubbing her thumb across his strong lips. "Have I ever told you what a dear, sweet man you are?"

"Add irresistible and relentlessly virile to that and you can tell me later. Right now I want to hear about the dream," he said stubbornly.

"There's not all that much to tell. The dream is nothing more than pieces of conversations," she said, her voice calm as though it really didn't matter. "Three ghosts from the past, coming back to relive memories. Memories of love."

"Love," she repeated, shuddering. And this time the word sounded like a vulgarity.

"Tell me."

She sighed and gave a short nod. "Buddy is always there first," she began quietly, "telling me that he loves me, asking if I love him." She shifted slightly in his arms. 'You see, Buddy was born after my father left us, and Mama was . . . well, she was weak and always seemed to be off in a world of her own. So Buddy and I had only each other. He was my responsibility—and there was nothing 1 could do to stop him from dying. I was totally helpless."

She shook her head restlessly. "In the dream he asks me if I love him, and it feels like an accusation. I loved him, but I let him die."

"How did he die?"

"Cerebrospinal meningitis."

Bill swore softly. He knew what the disease was like, knew what seeing it must have done to her.

"By the time we realized bow ill he was and got him to the hospital it was too late," she said, her voice dull. "I told my friends, the group, that I wanted to be a doctor for the money, and that was true, but it was only part of the truth. Mostly I wanted to be a doctor because of how helpless I felt when Buddy died. I didn't want to ever be that helpless again."

She fell silent, but the air between them was taut with the things she had not yet said. Bill knew there was more, much more. Somehow he had to make her let go of it all. Her dream was coming between them, and he couldn't aHow anything to do that.

"The other ghosts?"

She laughed shortly. "You really are a glutton for punishment." She sighed. "The next voice is—"

When Delilah broke off abruptly, Bill could feel her trying to withdraw from him mentally, emotionally, and physically. He knew he was taking a big chance, forcing this on her, but he could see no other way.

"Lila, the next voice," he demanded.

"When I was ten and Buddy was four, Mama married a man who lived in our building. A man named Wade Simms. At first I thought she had married him so we wouldn't have to stay on welfare, but I was wrong. She loved him. Buddy and I came to love him too." She ran a trembling hand over her face. "After Buddy died, Mama got worse, weaker. I realize now that there was nothing wrong with her physically, but she stayed in bed most of the time. I was so scared she was going to die like Buddy had. She depended on me and Wade for everything."

She shook her head violently. "That's enough. The rest doesn't matter. It's all In the past."

"It matters if it's hurting you," he said, forcing a casual tone. "It's not in the past if you're still carrying the pain now. You said you'd share with me."

She nodded shortly, reluctantly, and let out a slow breath. "Before long Wade started spending the night on the couch. He said Mama slept better that way."

Suddenly the truth hit Bill like a sledgehammer, and he knew what was coming next. His chest and throat hurt with the knowledge. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want her to relive it. But he knew it was the only way she would ever be able to let it go.

"One night about two years after Buddy's death"— her voice was painfully hoarse—"he came to my room." Her slender fingers clenched in the sheets. "He said I had to be quiet or I would wake Mama. He said I couldn't upset her because she was sick. I knew he was right ... I knew I couldn't upset her . . . and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to do."

She was shaking convulsively, and Bill had to tighten every muscle to keep from taking her in his arms. He couldn't let her stop until it was all out in the open.

"Suddenly," she whispered, "before he—before anything happened, Mama was there in the room, standing over the bed. She was screaming at me, calling me names. She was blaming me." She reached up and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with an unsteady hand. "Now, looking back, I can be rational and say that I was trapped, helpless, in a situation that was not of my making, but always in the back of my mind is the nagging feeling that there was something I could have done to keep it from happening. When Wade followed Mama to try to calm her down, I climbed out the window and left. I hid in an alley all night. The next morning I stood across the street watching as they brought Mama out on a stretcher." The words were barely audible now. "One of the neighbors told me she had accidentally taken too many sleeping pills."

He moved swiftly, urgently, and gathered her into his arms, wrapping himself around her tightly. "Don't, baby," he whispered. "Don't cry. Please don't cry."

But she wasn't. It was Bill who cried as he held her, rocking her back and forth.

After a while he thought she had gone to sleep, but when he drew back to look at her, her eyes were wide open. He cleared his throat and ran a shaky hand over his face. "What did you do after— afterward? Where did you go?"

She shrugged stiffly, as though it hurt to move. "I couldn't go to the authorities because they would have turned me over to Wade, to my stepfather." She drew in a deep, ragged breath. "So I was on my own. I found a deserted warehouse where other runaways were living, and I made a couple of friends. One of them, Sissy Keller, got papers for me so that I could go to school and get free meals. Breakfast and lunch. That was enough to keep me alive. On the weekends I worked when I could and stole when I couldn't." She shook her head. "I haven't thought of Sissy in years. One day she was simply gone. But by then I had gotten used to being alone."

Bill could feel her loosening up slightly. She was now reliving a time in which she had had more control over her life.

"I was always scared," she said. "But I got strong and I survived. I swore that someday I wouldn't have to worry about where my next meal was coming from. I wouldn't have to worry about where I would sleep for the night. I swore that someday I would have real security. Then I would never have to be afraid again."

Suddenly she gave a broken laugh and turned to look at him. "I didn't give you half," she said hoarsely. "I gave you the whole damn thing."

"I wanted it all." he said, and held out his hand. "See, it's all here. I've got all the hurt and fear here in my hand. I'll hold on to it." He clenched his fingers into a tight fist. "I'll hold it tight, and I won't ever let it get to you again. That's a promise, Lila."

Delilah pressed her face to his chest, letting his warmth ease into her flesh, absorbing the good, clean feel of him. And just for a moment she allowed herself to believe him.

Suddenly frightened, she reached up to touch his face. "You understand, don't you, Bill? You see now why I can't love," she whispered urgently. "Why I can't ever love again. I don't have any love left. I had it all burned out of me a long, long time ago."

"Don't worry about it," he said, moving his head to kiss the palm of her hand. "No one is going to force you to do anything, ever. You don't have to love me if it scares you so much. Just let me love you. You can do that." He grinned. "It's as easy as falling off a log."

Maybe, she thought, letting the hope build in her. Maybe she could do that.