Whitehorse (14 page)

Groaning, Johnny fell back against the shower wall, allowing the water to cascade down his chest and belly, onto Dolores's head and shoulders. It poured down her cheeks and into her mouth as her lips parted, sliding like a tight-fitting glove onto his organ, which had become aroused despite himself.

"Yes," he finally replied. "I kissed her. For old time's sake."

"And did you enjoy it?"

"No." He shook his head and turned his face into the hot spray. "No."

"You never had the kind of sex with her that we have, did you, Johnny?" She flicked him with her tongue, fast, like the fluttering of a hummingbird's wing.

"She never gave me a blow job, if that's what you mean. She was
too …
innocent. I would never have asked it of her."

"What about now? Would you ask it of her now? Would she go down on you like I do, do you think?"

He closed his eyes. His fingers, bunched in Dolores's wet hair, gripped her head as his entire body turned hard as stone and his breath caught somewhere in his chest and would not budge. Leah's face shimmered before his mind's eye like a rainbow through the runnels of silver water flowing from his brow, her incredible blue eyes drowsy with passion, lips swollen by his kiss, cheeks flushed with a desire that both mystified and embarrassed her.

With a groan and a pump of his hips, he succumbed like flotsam in a whirlpool to the pull of Dolores's mouth.

A hematoma the size of a tennis ball had sprouted on Johnny's mare's stifle. Leah briefly considered using that as an excuse not to live up to her promise to Shamika to go to her support group that afternoon, but, at the last minute, she climbed into Shamika's van and drove into town. Her attendance of the support meetings had been sporadic the last few weeks. When she felt strong, she braved the challenge. When she felt weak, she holed up in her house and buried her head in animal medicine. But, as Shamika pointed out, it was the times that she felt the weakest that she needed support the most.

And she was feeling pretty damn weak today … and all because of Johnny.

Shelley Darmon, a beautiful honey-blonde with sparkling blue eyes and a model's lithe figure, smiled brightly as Leah entered the room. She waved and motioned to the empty chair next to her. Others turned, rewarding Leah with welcomes and outstretched hands whose touches were as firm and assuring as anchors in turbulent water.

Shelley hugged her, holding her close even as Leah tried to pull away. "It's been much too long," she said. "How is Val?"

"Doing great. It's me I'm not so sure about."

"That's
why
we're here."

Leah eased down into the folding chair that was one of a dozen situated in a circle, spoke and smiled to the women who seemed eager to draw her into conversation. Yes, her vet practice was starting to take off. No, she had not gotten around to reading the James Herriot books yet, but she would, she promised, as soon as she got caught up with all her paperwork,
and …
no, she had not yet received the Special-Needs Parent Bulletin. Was there anything exciting to report? No new medications? Theories?

Certainly, she would be happy to help their fund drive. To say the children needed a new school bus was an understatement. The way it limped up the road, she was surprised that it ever made it to school.

Would Senator Foster consider sponsoring the drive? His influence, and the fact that his own grandson had been afflicted with cerebral palsy, would bring statewide if not nationwide interest to their plight. He could certainly spearhead the drive to get the government to cough up more money for future research.

She would speak to him, of course. But they must understand politicians … so much to do and so little time to do
it…

The meeting came to order. Shelley welcomed the newcomers, then invited them to stand and introduce themselves.

Tom and Betty Thackery were in their early thirties. He was an insurance salesman. She was, or had been, a CPA for a local accounting firm. They had waited ten years to have a child, making certain there was money in savings to handle the costs. They'd bought a nice house with a big backyard because they believed children needed a lot of space to run and play
in…

Their daughter had been born two months premature. First the baby seemed fine. It wasn't until she was nearly eight months old before they realized there was a problem. It began with seizures…

The doctors could not tell them for sure how the damage had been caused. Could have been due to the early birth, as was most cases of CP.

Betty blamed herself. Obviously she had not done something right during her pregnancy…

They didn't know if they could cope with the aspect of caring for a handicapped child for the rest of their lives. They were struggling with guilt over the fact that they did not want to—why were they being punished? What had they done in their lives to warrant God's burdening them with such a catastrophe?

Why, dear God, could the child not have died in delivery and saved them all from this nightmare? Betty wept into her hands, fingers hiding her shamed face, shoulders shaking as her husband hugged her, consoled her, and cried himself.

Shelley went to Betty and took her in her arms. "We've all thought the same thing. Why us? What could we have done differently? And there are times still, when we look out on a normal world full of normal children and ache to see our own chase kites, and play ball, and tap dance in tutus on a stage before proud giddy parents. We would love to go out in public with our children and not be stared at with pity and morbid curiosity. We would love to go into a restaurant or a movie without fearing the reaction of others. We would love to grow deaf to the taunts and jeers of healthy children whose cruelty stems from ignorance and not meanness. We would love to know the feel of our own sons' and daughters' arms around our necks, of their warm, wet kisses on our cheeks, of their squeals of pleasure on Christmas morning.

"But those pleasures are so minor compared to the moment your little girl finally manages to say 'mama,' to reach for your hand, to read her first word. Or the sparkle in her eyes when she knows she's pleased you. She may never walk, or run, or gather daisies in a meadow and present them to you on your birthday, but she
will
love you—never doubt that for a moment. Her brain may be damaged, but not her soul. It is as vibrant and strong as a thousand healthy bodies. Let it carry you, and you both will learn to soar with eagles."

Dana Carpenter sat forward in her chair, elbows on her knees, hands clasped loosely together. "I remember when my son was born prematurely. I told my best friend, 'I don't think I can cope if something goes wrong with my baby.' And she said, 'Yes you will. You will because you have to. God never gives us more to bear than we can handle.' Now I like to think that God gifted me with my son because
He
thought
I
was special."

Shelley took her chair and crossed her legs. "My husband left me when Michael was still a baby. Hell, I hadn't worked in several years. The only job I could expect to get was answering phones. That salary wouldn't even cover paying for private day care for my son, much less his therapy and medications, which were running nearly three thousand dollars a month. Fortunately my husband might have been stingy with his emotional responsibilities, but he has lived up to his financial ones. He carried all the expenses while I went back to school and got my teaching degree. Now I get to work and enjoy the same holidays as Michael. I can afford to hire a nanny who comes in and gets Michael ready for school, and is there in the afternoon when he gets home. And to top that
off …
are you ready for this, ladies? I met a man."

The group whooped and high-fived one another as Shelley beamed. "Yep. Just when I thought I'd grow old and gray before ever finding a man who wanted to shoulder the responsibility of a special-needs child, I meet this incredible man when I took Michael up to Rockaway Ranch. He volunteers twice a week at the ranch, helping with the horses and children. He and Michael hit if off immediately. We started seeing one another
and …
I'm feeling really good about this relationship. I don't have to be terrified of some joker finding out about my son and dumping me like a hot potato." She wiggled her eyebrows and added, "Did I mention he's a hunk?"

Laughter around her as Leah looked from one face to another, smiling herself, feeling any moment as if she would implode.

"Leah?"

She looked around at Shelley.

"You look as if you'd like to say something."

She opened and closed her mouth, shrugged, bit her lip.

"Are you still seeing Sam?" Dana asked.

"We have a date tonight."

"Have you introduced him yet to Val?"

"No." She shook her head.

Shelley smiled. "Have you told Sam yet about Val?"

Leah lowered her eyes. "No," she replied more softly.

"Because…?"

"Because the last time I grew fond of a man, the moment I introduced him to Val he split."

"Then obviously you've grown fond of Sam or you wouldn't worry about him taking a hike," Shelley said.

"No. Not really. He's a nice guy. It's just
that …
it's nice to be with a man sometimes. To go out. See a movie. Get dinner."

"Yes, but eventually you're going to want to commit yourself. To get serious."

"Not with Sam. He doesn't do that for me."

"Are you sure? Maybe you're simply afraid of falling for him too deeply. You're not going to allow yourself such freedom until you know exactly how he's going to respond to Val."

"Maybe." She shrugged. "I just think, at this stage, I haven't bothered introducing them because I don't see a future for us, regardless of Val."

Someone changed the subject, and with a sense of relief, Leah relaxed back in her chair, aware that she had refused to speak up and say what she'd come here to say. That a man she once loved with all her heart had stumbled back into her life, stirring up all the old yearnings of desire and fantasies, all the old anger and confusion over his feud with her father and how Johnny ripped her heart, not to mention her loyalties, in two and oh God she could so easily allow herself to fall for him again, despite her father, but there was Val, always Val, and while she could handle any other man turning his back on her and her son she could not handle Johnny doing it and because of that she wanted to hide Val, tuck him out of sight so for the first time in years she could grasp that fragile glass rope of happiness before she drowned drowned drowned in loneliness and self-pity.

The two hours flew by. Session over, the group met at a table cluttered with punch and cookies and brochures about coping with special-needs problems and products for special-needs children, including wheelchairs, walkers, and silverware that was crooked to facilitate eating. Leah picked up the pamphlet about the wheelchairs and studied the four-thousand-dollar price, frowning.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" Shelley said, handing her a cookie. "When you're ready I have a friend who can get the same chair twenty percent cheaper. Will your insurance cover any of it?"

"There isn't any insurance."

Shelley rolled her eyes. "My God, how do you manage?"

"I don't." Leah smiled. "Val's outgrowing his chair like crazy. I simply can't afford four thousand dollars, not unless I take him out of physical therapy. And that's out of the question."

"There are a number of financial aid programs out there that could help."