Читать книгу Swept Away - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 9

With his feet glued in their tracks, Schyler watched Veronica go. He could call her or with his longer legs he could catch her. He did neither. What good would it do? He just stood there. One minute she’d been locked to him body and soul, fire and spirit, giving him all the sweetness a man could want—her heat and passion and the promise of her body. No point in thinking about the pain that seared through him as she practically galloped out of sight. He’d had pain before, and he’d feel it again. That didn’t bother him; he knew he could handle it. But when had a woman stood toe-to-toe with him, taking his passion and demanding that he take hers and give her more of himself in even greater measure? He wanted the ultimate experience with her. Even as he stood there in the dying daylight, everything in him down to the recesses of his loins wanted him to go after her and have her for his own. But he doubted he’d ever release himself within her. And maybe it was for the best; if he went that route, she’d own him, and from where he stood, he couldn’t see a future for them.

He glared at the stars that mocked him with their hollow, twinkling promises. The water lapped loudly at the cove nearby, reminding him of his loneliness. He’d been hearing that same noise for twenty-six years, and for generations to come, his descendants—if he had any—would know its steady, sometimes soothing, sometimes disquieting rhythm. He’d wanted her to share it with him. He flexed his right shoulder in a quick shrug. A relationship with her was hopeless, had been from the minute he’d first looked into her wide, long-lashed eyes.

He knew now that the prospect of their being more than adversaries—in court or out—had just plummeted to nil. He had only to mention his father’s name and her passion for him disappeared like smoke in a windstorm. And what could he do about it? He loved his father. He picked up a stone, sent it skipping across the water and headed back to his car. So what? He’d known plenty of disappointments. He shook his head as he unlocked the car. He wouldn’t lie to himself. This one was a Goliath. She was in him, and he knew she’d stay there. But what the hell! It wouldn’t kill him.

“Where’s Veronica?” Richard asked him when he walked into the house.

He never lied to his father, and he wouldn’t do it then. “I’m sorry, Dad. She decided not to come back.”

Richard stared at him, obviously speechless. “Did you have an argument?”

He heard the dread in his father’s voice and knew that he anticipated the truth. “No, we didn’t.”

“Then what happened?”

He had to tell him sometime, to let his father know the circumstances under which he’d first met Veronica, and he’d better do it right then. He sat in the brown leather recliner, leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Dad, I didn’t meet Veronica for the first time this afternoon. I—”

Richard dropped into the nearest chair and leaned forward. “You knew her? And you never told me?”

“I knew her, yes, But I didn’t know she was your daughter until I opened the front door for her this afternoon.”

He described his acquaintance with Veronica, told his father about Veronica’s extended leave from her high-profile job and of the part he’d played in it.

The right hand Richard raised when Schyler began to talk stayed where it was. Frozenlike. He parted his lips as if to speak but didn’t make a sound, merely shook his head as though denying the possibility of what Schyler’s words implied. Schyler wondered about his father’s thoughts while the man he loved so dearly stared at him for long minutes. Without warning, he slumped in the chair.

Schyler lunged out of the recliner and rushed to his father. “You all right?”

“No, I’m not.” The words struggled up from Richard’s throat as if they’d had to pull themselves out of him. He sat up straight. “Did you…did you tell…is that all of it?”

He went back to the recliner and sat there. “I’m not sure you want to hear all of this, but if I tell you everything now, you’ll know where you stand with her.”

“Go ahead. I can take it.”

Schyler ran the tips of his fingers back and forth against his chin. Pensive. He didn’t like revealing his most private feelings to another man, not even if that man was his father. But his father deserved any truth that might comfort him.

“I fell for her hook, line and sinker the minute I laid eyes on her, and nothing that’s happened since has abated it one iota.”

He imagined his father’s whistle could be heard half a block away. “And you went ahead with that case against her?”

“Worse. I brought the second suit two weeks later.” He leaned back, locked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “She’s a fighter. Man, does that woman have a set of guts. She’s not afraid of anybody or anything. If those daggers she pitched at me while she was on that witness stand had been real, I’d be pushing up daisies this minute.”

He could sense the tension easing out of his father when Richard laughed and admiration for his daughter flashed in his eyes.

“Gave you what for, did she?”

“You could say that.”

Richard made a pyramid of his hands, bracing his index fingers against his chin. “The two of you were managing to be pleasant up to the time you left here, though I suppose that was for my sake. What happened out there on that beach?”

Schyler let out a long, heavy breath, sat forward and dropped his head in his hands. After a minute, he sat up and looked at his father. “Up to then, I’d never touched her. Out there, I did, and what we felt hit both of us like a volcanic eruption. Then…well, I got to talking about you, and…” He threw up his hands. “It’s over before it started. At least as far as I’m concerned, that’s the beginning and the end of it. It never stood a chance anyway.”

Richard shook his head as if in wonder at the incredulity, the seeming otherworldliness of events that had governed his relationship with his daughter almost since her birth. He looked at the son who had filled his empty life and given him a reason for living. A reason to set goals and to work hard to achieve them. He had to find a way to communicate to Schyler the folly of giving up, of fooling yourself into believing you could do without anyone who could do without you, but he had to tread softly. Schyler was, after all, a grown man and proud of his independence.

“I see you’ve resigned yourself to living without her,” he said, measuring his words as carefully as he could. “I did that once, and I’ve regretted it every day since. Not anymore. My daughter and I will come to terms. Good terms. I don’t doubt it for a second. You think you’re young, strong and invincible, that you’re bigger than anything that can happen to you. But you wait until this thing starts eating away at your guts, slicing through your innards like acid, dulling your senses. Wait till every woman you look at—white, black, Asian or brown—looks just like her. You haven’t been miserable, Son. You haven’t hurt so badly you wanted to die. Just pray to God it all gets straightened out.” He grasped mentally at the breath that seemed to have escaped his lungs. “Do you know where she lives?”

His flesh crawled. He’d never known how his father had suffered. He’d grown up wanting to be like him, to do everything his father did. He’d even chosen his father’s profession of engineering. But he didn’t want for himself what his father had just described. Yet, he didn’t see how it could be avoided.

“I can easily find out where she lives,” he said. “Tell me, do you know why she resents you?”

Richard massaged his forehead with the fingers of his left hand. “I can only guess that Esther concocted some trumped-up explanation for why we weren’t together. And whatever she said didn’t make me look good but covered up for her.”

Schyler restrained the whistle pushing at his lips. “It must have been a pretty strong indictment.”

“It had to be to cover up for…Maybe some day when it doesn’t hurt any longer, I’ll tell you all of it. But I can’t stand to rehash it now.”

“You mean…After so many years, you—”

Richard interrupted him. “Yes, it hurts. If I can bring Veronica into my life, that will help, but nothing will ever erase the…” He slapped both his knees with his palms. “The soufflé is first-class tonight. How about some?”

How could his father possibly smile after the gut-wrenching tale he’d just told? “You bet,” Schyler said, trying to keep his voice light. “Don’t you get tired of chocolate?”

Richard’s grin eased over his face and settled in his eyes, eyes that now reminded Schyler of Veronica. “Me? Haven’t you figured it out? You’ve forced so much of it on me that I’ve gotten where I have to have my daily chocolate fix.”

They laughed, stood and walked arm in arm to the kitchen. Each faced a battle: Richard intended to win his. If he didn’t, Schyler and Veronica wouldn’t stand a chance. But Schyler had resigned himself to what he considered the hopelessness of a meaningful relationship with Veronica, and moved his mind on to other things.

As Veronica walked, her steps slowed and her energy seemed to dissipate. She leaned against a lamppost and tried to collect her wits. What had made her do it? Run from him like that? The hold Schyler had on her and the way he’d demonstrated it…No. She had to be honest with herself. That wasn’t the reason. She’d met a man different from the one her mother had told her about. A man set in a very different mold. And she could have liked him. A lot, too. But for thirty years he’d been a monster, someone she detested, and she couldn’t shove that aside or wash it away just because he cooked the best rice she’d ever tasted. She knew she’d wounded him when she didn’t go back for his prized soufflé, and she’d hurt Schyler, too. Her spirit crumpled when she realized that she envied Schyler her father’s love, his pampering and the status a successful father gave his children. She didn’t like admitting it, because she’d always considered jealousy beneath her, believed it robbed a person of common sense and dignity. She pulled herself away from the post and walked on. Richard Henderson didn’t add up. He was an enigma that she knew she’d never figure out without being around Schyler, and she couldn’t risk that danger. She had no intention of letting herself become involved with Schyler.

She got in her car and realized she hadn’t locked it. There was something to be said for a village the size of Tilghman, she mused, but she’d be leaving it come morning. Maybe for good.

Several days later she found herself in Baltimore, back in her old territory lunching with Enid.

“So tell me about this fling you had over in Europe. Meet any hunks?”

Veronica let her gaze roam around Wilma’s Blue Moon Restaurant, reflecting on the hours she’d spent at that same table discussing CPAA’s business with Enid and others of her staff and marveled that she didn’t miss it.

She decided to tease Enid. “I didn’t see anything but hunks. If you’re looking for one who’s different, go over and take your pick. Of course, you might have to take their ideas about women right along with them. I had a fling, but it was an affair with freedom, you might say. Me and Mother Nature all alone. It was incredible.”

Enid cocked her head to one side. “Then why’d you come back so soon? If I’d been in your shoes, girl, the people in this town wouldn’t know where I made my last tracks. They don’t deserve you.”

Months ago such a compliment would have pleased her, but now she shrugged it off. “That’s behind me, Enid.” She told her friend about her mother but nothing more.

“Seen Mr. Henderson since you’ve been back?”

Had she ever! “I knew you’d ask that. Anything new with him?” She hoped Enid wouldn’t catch her evasion. “Who’s he after now?”

Enid’s dreamy-eyed expression brought a sheen of perspiration to Veronica’s forearms. Was what she felt for Schyler merely the usual reaction of the average woman? His regular due?

“Girl, I wish he was after me,” she heard Enid say.

She didn’t want to watch Enid drool over Schyler Henderson. She sipped the last of her coffee, gave Enid and Wilma the tiny porcelain Swiss yodelers she’d bought for them in Interlaken and bade her friend goodbye.

“Let me know where you’ll be, honey,” Enid said.

Veronica wrote her name, address and phone number on a piece of paper. “In case it’s been erased from your computer, here it is, but be careful who gets hold of it.” She started off, turned back and hugged her friend. “See you.”

Enid ducked her head, but Veronica had seen her tears. “Don’t worry about me, Enid. I’ll be all right. But there’s so much I haven’t done, seen and felt, things that I’ve dreamed of since childhood. Now may be my only chance to live fully. To the hilt. And I’m not letting it slip by. I’ll stay in touch.”

Enid nodded and walked away.

Veronica stopped in Kmart, bought a jumbo-size umbrella with a long handle and headed for the train to Owings Mills. When she reached the train station, she crossed Reisterstown Road and turned the corner.

“Ronnie! Ronnie! I knowed you’d come back. I just knowed it. I missed you a whole lot, Ronnie. People don’t talk to me when they past here. I ’preciate every single penny people gives me. Lord knows I do. But you don’t throw money at me like you was ’fraid to touch me, Ronnie. You comes to me and hands it to me and talks with me. While you was gone, weeks went by and nobody said a word to me lessen I went to buy something. And then they didn’t say nothin’ if they could help it.”

The woman’s anguish drifted through her like a throbbing ache, for she had never before heard Jenny complain or even show dissatisfaction with her predicament. Yet, she couldn’t get Jenny to motivate herself enough to receive real assistance.

“You don’t belong out here,” she told her. “I told you I’d help you get a place if you’ll only fill out that form I gave you.”

“I’m gon’ do that, Ronnie. Honest. I just dreads them slammin’ them doors in my face.”

Veronica stepped closer and patted Jenny’s shoulder. “If you’ll trust me, that won’t happen. Here’s something for you.” She handed her the umbrella. “This will keep you dry, and it’s good for shade, too.”

Jenny’s wide grin lit up her face. She grabbed the umbrella and ran her fingers up and down it, feeling it, caressing it. “So pretty, Ronnie. And it’s new. Brand-new. Well, can you beat that? I don’t know when I last had anything that hadn’t been throwed away. Real new. Well, I declare.”

Such a small thing, that umbrella. Jenny’s pleasure in it humbled her. She folded some bills and handed them to the woman.

“Oh, no, Ronnie. You keep that.” She patted her coat pocket, still secured with the two safety pins. “I still got some of what you gave me before you left. I’ll let you know when I run out. You know I thank you, don’t you, Ronnie?”

Veronica nodded. “See you next time, and you fill out that form.”

“I hope you ain’t out here in the middle of the day ’cause you sick or somethin’.”

Veronica couldn’t help smiling with pleasure at Jenny’s concern for her. “Nothing like that. I’m on leave.” She looked at her watch. “I have to get my train. Bye now.”

“Bye and thanks. I’m gonna fill out the paper. You hear?”

Veronica walked into the town house that she’d worked so hard to get and in which she’d always taken such pride. Sunlight streamed through the living room’s large bay window, its brilliance giving the room an added cheerfulness and an elegance that complimented her achievements and her personality. For a minute she let herself glory in it, but a few seconds later the picture of Jenny on the corner with her shopping cart of junk and her joyous acceptance of the one new thing she’d had in years undercut her pride in her home and her possessions.

Discomfited, she wandered through the house, flicked on the television to a Senate debate, sucked her teeth in disgust at the hypocritical posturing and shut if off. She turned on the radio, and a Mozart concerto flowed around her. Her favorite, but not on that morning. Schyler. Schyler. If only she didn’t care. She walked into the kitchen and looked out of the window and at a blue jay flitting from limb to limb on her prized cherry tree. She couldn’t help remembering the soul-searing trek over the meadow in the Swiss Alps.

Schyler. Schyler. She didn’t want to go to the singing group that she loved; didn’t feel like knitting the mittens and caps that she always created as Christmas gifts for homeless children; and she couldn’t work up an interest in the state’s foster care system. She wanted what she couldn’t have. She wanted that wild, hot, unearthly feeling she’d gotten when he had her in his arms. If only she could feel his hands, his lips, his body…Oh Lord, what was wrong with her!

Without thinking, she did as she’d always done when she stood at a precipice and needed balance. She called her stepfather.

His voice blessed her with the solace that he’d always represented in her life. “I was hoping you’d call, Veronica. I don’t like not knowing where you are.”

“I’m home.”

“Good. I know you’re upset about your mama being gone and all that, but she’s better off now, and we have to be glad for that.”

“I’m handling it, Papa. What about you?”

“I’m doing fine. When are you going back to work? When I called Enid, she said you had three months’ leave to use up. That doesn’t make sense. You can lose a lot in three months, including your job.”

She didn’t want to distress him. He’d think she didn’t appreciate her blessing. And besides, she wanted him to know she’d always be there to help him if he needed it. “I haven’t had a vacation in years, Papa, and that trip to Europe just whetted my appetite.”

He knew her so well that he probably suspected she wasn’t telling all, but she knew he wouldn’t pressure her to share a problem before she was ready. He had so many ways of communicating his love for her, and it came to her now in his softened voice and gentle concern.

“Well, get some rest, and you be careful roaming around all by yourself. Come see me when you can. I’ll be praying for you.”

She pushed back the threatening tears, though there was no sorrow in them. Just an overwhelming love. “Thanks, Papa. You know I will.”

She waited for him to say goodbye, but he hadn’t finished. “If you’re running from something, girl, you might as well stand still and face it, cause it’ll catch you anyway. I can testify to that. And if you’re trying to find something, look inside yourself first. It’s there, baby. You just need the courage to take it.”

How had he read her so accurately? “I know, Papa. I know. Here’s my cell phone number in case you lost it. You can reach me wherever I am in the country. Love you, Papa.”

“You’re my heart, Veronica. Always have been. Always will be.”

Nothing had changed, but she felt a lot better. She phoned Hertz for a rental car, got out some maps and sat down to figure out where next to satisfy her wanderlust. The following morning she packed a few essentials along with her Buddy Guy, George Strait and Leontyne Price cassettes, her knitting bag, six cans of ginger ale and a supply of Butterfingers. She laughed at her taste in music. Blues, country and opera, not to mention the jazz and chamber music and other classical morsels that she wasn’t taking along. She went back into the house and got a couple of Billie Holiday cassettes, in case she stayed away more than a few days and began to miss them. She looked at the beloved house that she once hated to leave for any reason, shook her head at the changes in her, got in the Mercury Cougar and headed for the Adirondack Mountains.

Dusk had begun to settle over the tiny hamlet of Indian Lake when she turned into Geandreau’s Cabins, a group of furnished, red clapboard cabins on Highway 28 facing Adirondack Lake. The brochure promised scenic beauty and only nature for company, if one wanted that. Here and there, houses predating the Revolutionary War proudly displayed their plaques of authenticity and stood arrogantly, as it were, among the youthful and less imposing school, church, tiny post office, hardware store and Giant supermarket. What did the villages do for entertainment or for intellectual stimulation? An eerie quiet. Solitude.

She quickly learned that if she wanted that, she’d have to insist on it. At supper in the nearby café, a stranger joined her as soon she sat down.

“You’re not from ’round here,” the old man said. “Staying long?”

She remembered that she was in a small town, tried not to show impatience and made herself smile. “A few days.”

“Ain’t much to do here ’cept swim and go canoeing. Fish don’t never bite no more; weeds suck up the oxygen in the lake.”

Not according to her knowledge of chemistry; like all other lakes, that one was nothing more than a combination of oxygen and hydrogen. She let the old man have his wisdom. “That so?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “If yer husband wants to go fishing, I can take him down to the Indian Lake in the morning. They bites down there. No charge. Just friendly. I likes the company.”

She supposed if she lived in a tiny place like Indian Lake, she’d be expected to have a husband. “I’m not married.”

He peered at her as if to make sure his eyes hadn’t fooled him. “Where you from?”

She told him, and watched him shake his head, seemingly in dismay. “No wonder. Them city fellows don’t know a woman when they sees one. You better get started. Raising young’ uns ain’t easy when you get older. Takes more energy than you got. Get yerself a good man ’fore you too old to find one.” He looked closely at her. “You got one, ain’t you?”

What could she say? There was someone who could fill her life with all it lacked, all she desired, but he was just another of her dreams.

“There is someone, but I have no hope for an enduring relationship with him.”

The old man cocked an eyebrow and rubbed the gray stubble that grew from his jaw. “He ain’t married or engaged, is he?”