Stitches in Time, page 7
How long it went on she never knew—an immeasurable eternity, a few seconds of actual time. Then the entire length of his body stiffened, unyielding as stone, and he pushed her away, his hand hard against her breast. Disgust, contempt, and outrage transformed his face. His raised hand shook. For a moment she thought he was going to strike her.
Then she heard the knock at the door.
Without speaking or looking at her again, Tony retrieved the fallen crutch and started for the door. As Rachel fled she heard him say, in a voice whose gruffness might have been attributed to legitimate annoyance, “What’s the idea of turning up this time of night, you inconsiderate son of a gun?”
“I wouldn’t have knocked, but I saw the lights,” a voice murmured apologetically.
The door she closed behind her cut off the rest of the conversation. Clutching the covering around her shivering body, she stumbled up the stairs. The old house was drafty; a finger of air from the window she had raised a healthy two inches curled around her face like an icy tentacle. She was about to drop the blanket—coverlet—whatever it was—that covered her shoulders to the floor when she identified it. The album quilt. Throwing it over a chair, she got into bed and curled herself into a tight knot under the blankets.
The late arrival must be the long-awaited Adam, living up to his reputation by turning up at a particularly inconvenient hour. What would he have done if he hadn’t seen there were lights on in the house? Bunked down in the car? Gone to a motel?
It was possible that he had seen a lot more than the lights. Wouldn’t a considerate visitor, turning up in the middle of the night, check to make sure someone was awake and receptive before he knocked? The glass panels on either side of the door would have given him a clear view of the interior of the room.
If he had seen them…Hot with shame and embarrassment, Rachel pushed the blankets back. He would certainly put the worst possible interpretation on that scene, and how could she blame him when she herself didn’t understand why or how it had happened?
Sharing the same house with a man who had seen her for the first time in the arms of her friend’s husband wouldn’t be comfortable, but it was only a minor discomfort compared to the prospect of facing Tony the next day. The Cardozas were supposed to leave at noon. With luck she could avoid a direct confrontation for those few hours. Surely he would be as anxious to avoid it as she. Even if he didn’t blame her for what had happened, the very sight of her would remind him of his moment of weakness. Another sort of man might shrug it off, but not Tony; his rigid conscience and old-fashioned values would give him hell.
A moment of weakness, nothing more. I am not going to blame myself, Rachel thought. It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t do it on purpose. It wasn’t his fault either. It was no one’s fault. It just happened. He hated himself for doing it, though. He looked as if he hated me. He pushed me away…
He pushed her away, so roughly she stumbled back and fell to the floor. Bruised and breathless she raised herself on her hands and looked up at him. He stood over her, his booted feet braced and his fists raised.
“God damn you! I warned you—”
“You wanted it too. You still want me. What’s the harm in it? It’s all I have, you can’t take it away from me.”
She raised herself to her knees, reaching out with both arms as if she would embrace his thighs. His breath caught harshly, but he moved back, beyond her grasp. “I can’t risk it. Not any longer. It never was important—”
“Not to you?” Watching him, she said again, in a different voice. “No, not to you.”
He hunched his shoulders uneasily, tried to avoid her eyes. “What did you expect? You’re lucky to get off so easily. It could be worse, you know. It will be worse if you don’t stop behaving this way.”
Still on her knees she straightened her back and lifted her head. “Don’t do this,” she said, very softly. “I’m warning you.”
“Are you threatening me?” His sullen, angry face relaxed into incredulous amusement. “Well. That settles it. I was willing to be accommodating if you behaved yourself, but that you should dare…You’ve only yourself to blame. I’ve done all I can.”
Turning on his heel he strode out, slamming the door behind him. For several minutes she did not move. Then she rose slowly to her feet and went to the bureau. The objects on it were in wild disarray as they always were; mechanically she set them in order, bottles and jars and brushes. Before long she found what she wanted.
The clatter of childish footsteps and the babble of childish voices woke Rachel at dawn. Groggy from lack of sleep, at first she couldn’t remember why she felt so terrible. A test for which she hadn’t studied, gym class with that nasty Sue Collins making snotty remarks about her bra size…Maybe she could convince her mother she was sick…
When she got herself focused in time she felt even worse. There was no way of getting out of this one—no trusting parent to con, not even a hope of playing hooky. She heard Cheryl, trying vainly to hush the children—“You’ll wake poor Rachel, let her sleep”—and let out a muffled groan.
They would have a nice day for the drive. The rays of the rising sun slipped into the room, strengthening the blues and greens of the braided rug, brightening the pattern of the quilt thrown over the chair. Averting her eyes from that reminder, Rachel headed for the bathroom.
The reflection of her drawn face and shadowed eyes made her turn from the mirror. How could anyone see that face and fail to suspect the truth? Only a few more hours, she reminded herself, and hid the dark circles with foundation, brightened the pale mouth with lipstick. Without makeup she looked so sickly Cheryl was bound to fuss over her. She couldn’t stand sympathy from that source, not today.
Freezing her face into a smile, she went downstairs and was relieved to find only Cheryl, who was wiping the sink and looking infuriatingly relaxed. I’ll go crazy if she dawdles like that all morning, Rachel thought. She had to force herself to speak casually.
“Don’t bother with that, Cheryl, I’ll finish cleaning up after you leave. You musn’t be late getting off. What can I do to help?”
“My goodness, you’re bright and cheerful this morning,” Cheryl said with a laugh. “You must have had a good, sound night’s sleep.”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you weren’t disturbed. That rotten Adam turned up at two a.m., can you imagine? He woke poor Tony, fumbling at the door. I guess I can’t blame Adam; he had no way of knowing Tony would be on the alert for funny noises, but honestly!”
“So he’s here,” Rachel said.
“Yes, he’s here. Tony made him sleep in the other twin bed in his room so he wouldn’t disturb us tramping around upstairs.” The coffee had finished dripping. Cheryl poured two cups and sat down at the table. “Relax while you can,” she said cheerfully. “The thundering horde will be back soon. I sent them outside because they were making such a racket. They’re excited about the trip, naturally; but I want to let Tony sleep as long as possible. He had such a disturbed night.”
Some imp in the distant cupboards of Rachel’s mind jeered, She doesn’t know the half of it. Quickly, stupidly, she said, “He—they are still asleep then.”
“I hope so. Adam was snoring like a buzzsaw when I looked in on Tony this morning. I just about jumped out of my sneakers when I heard him. Tony never snores, and of course I didn’t know anyone else was there. Tony was awake, poor baby, but I think I persuaded him to go back to sleep.”
If she doesn’t stop calling him poor Tony, Rachel thought…
The children burst in, red-cheeked with cold and demanding hot cocoa. Joe followed them like a conscientious retriever. Giving his mother a critical look, he remarked with heavy sarcasm, “Hey, take it easy, Mom. Like, we don’t have to get out of here till tonight. Dad really loves having you drive after dark.”
“You’re lucky he isn’t here, young man,” Cheryl said. “If you’re in such a hurry, you’d better finish your own packing. Last time I saw your room you had junk all over the place. And don’t try to sneak that football into your suitcase, I told you you can’t take it.”
“Aw, Mom—”
“Your cousins probably have a dozen footballs.”
“But, like, this is a genuine NFL—”
“Stop saying ‘like’ every other word. And don’t forget to make your bed.”
“I can’t. I have to watch the monsters. Or do you want ’em busting in on Dad?”
He made a grab for Jerry, who was edging toward the door. Jerry wriggled and yelled. “Daddy should wake up. We have to go see Grandma.”
Cheryl collared her daughter, whose movements had been quieter but just as determined. Megan raised a cherubic face and crooned, “Daddy should wake up. We have to go see Grandma.”
“She says everything I say,” Jerry complained. “Make her shut up.”
“Upstairs,” Cheryl ordered. “All of you. And leave Daddy alone.”
“How can I make my bed when—”
“Daddy should wake up. We have to go see Grandma.”
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
“I’ll go with them,” Rachel offered. “Come on, guys, let’s make sure you packed all Grandma’s presents.”
“Bless you,” Cheryl said gratefully.
Rachel felt like the worst sort of hypocrite. It was impossible to hurry Cheryl; perhaps she would have better luck with the children.
She and the two younger children were in Jerry’s room, trying—at least Rachel was trying—to reduce the chaos, when Cheryl came upstairs. “Good lord,” she said, looking in.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said helplessly. “He keeps changing his mind about what clothes he wants to take.”
“It’s not your fault,” Cheryl said. “Oh, Jerry, for goodness sake! You can’t take these shorts. It’s just as cold in Ohio as it is here. What did you do with the corduroys I packed?”
“I don’t want the stinky old corduroys. I want my jeans.” Jerry streaked for the door, yelling, “Daddy! Daddy, do I have to wear my stinky old corduroys?”
Megan had slipped out of the room. A soprano echo floated back through the open door. “…have to wear my stinky old…”
“It’s all right,” Cheryl said, as Rachel started to follow. “Tony’s up and in the kitchen. He said to send the kids down if they were in the way. Why don’t you join him, have another cup of coffee?”
“No, let me help you.”
“I guess I could use some help at that, if I have to repack Megan’s things too.” Cheryl sighed. “Tony’s in one of his moods this morning. Sometimes I wish he’d just yell and get it out in the open, instead of sitting there all tight-lipped and glowering. Poor guy—Excuse me?”
“I didn’t say anything.” Rachel busied herself replacing the collection of summer shorts and tees in the dresser drawer.
“Oh. I was going to say, it’s hard on him having to watch me do all the work. I really would like to get off in good time, so he won’t get more upset.”
Megan had not substituted other clothes for the ones her mother had packed. The suitcase gaped empty; every doll and stuffed animal wore a pair of small panties or jeans, sometimes on its head, and Megan’s best ruffled party dress had been wrapped around a large teddy bear and tied tightly in place with Christmas ribbons. For a moment Rachel thought Cheryl was going to burst into tears.
“I spent an hour ironing that dress,” she whimpered, removing it from the teddy bear.
“I’m sure your mother-in-law has an iron,” Rachel said. “And it would have been wrinkled anyway, packed in a suitcase.”
They were still undressing the dolls when Joe yelled from his room. “Mom! Where’s my Redskins Super Bowl shirt?”
“Honey, that shirt is five years old and in rags!” Cheryl yelled back.
“You didn’t throw it away, did you?” His voice rose to a shriek.
Despite interruptions of a similar nature they managed to get the suitcases packed. Cheryl was in the bathroom the children shared, collecting toothbrushes and the bar of soap shaped like a cat, which was the only one Megan would use, when Rachel turned to see a shape looming in the doorway. She let out a squeak that brought Cheryl hurrying out of the bathroom.
“Oh,” she said. “Hi, Adam. You haven’t met Rachel, have you?”
He’s HUGE, Rachel thought dazedly. He had to duck his head to enter the door. Some of his bulk might have been due to the fact that he was wearing at least three sweaters; she could see the edges of them at the neck and wrists. His head would have looked disproportionately small atop this structure if a springy mass of tight dark curls had not added an additional two inches of height and breadth, covering his forehead and ears and meeting the beard that hid the lower part of his face. The only features visible were a snub nose and a pair of half-closed eyes.
“Pleased to meet you,” Rachel said insincerely.
He nodded in her general direction and looked out of the corner of his eye at Cheryl. “Ready?” he asked, nudging the suitcase with his foot. The foot was clad in a worn leather sandal and a bright orange sock with the toe out.
“Just let me put this in.” Cheryl closed the suitcase. “Thanks, Adam, it’s nice of you to help.”
“More?” He tucked the suitcase under one arm.
“Yes, there are two in my room and one in Megan’s; and you might see if you can persuade Joe to relinquish his.”
The apparition turned and went out.
“So that’s Adam.” Rachel stared at the empty doorway. “Can’t he talk?”
“Oh, sure. Once he gets started he never stops. But he’s very shy. Tony says he isn’t shy, he’s just suspicious of people. Whatever it is, it will take him at least a week to talk to you in complete sentences.”
“I’ll try not to scare him,” Rachel said drily. “I’m beginning to understand why you said he wouldn’t bother me.”
“He’s got a girlfriend,” Cheryl said. “Sort of.”
“I suppose he’s known her for twenty years?”
“Almost.” Cheryl laughed. “And I’m not sure what the relationship is. Still developing, no doubt.”
Footsteps clumped down the hall and Adam passed the door with a suitcase under each arm and one in each hand. He didn’t look in.
Having seen her new housemate, Rachel’s anxiety about his future behavior was somewhat lessened. He might turn into Mr. Hyde after the others had gone, but he didn’t appear to be the type who meddled in other people’s business. Quite the contrary. He hadn’t looked directly at her or spoken more than a few words.
In his uncommunicative way he was more helpful than Rachel had expected; she heard him moving around downstairs, carrying things to the car, doing a number of the chores she had anticipated she would have to do, and allowing her to remain out of the way—Tony’s way. Finally she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. The suitcases were packed and in the van; the only remaining job was to force the children to eat something before they hit the road. It would be a matter of force, unquestionably; she heard the raised voices as she approached the family room. Jerry was asking why they couldn’t stop at a fast-food restaurant instead of eating stinky peanut butter sandwiches, and Megan was echoing him, although she never ate anything but peanut butter sandwiches.
A deep, unfamiliar male voice interrupted the argument. “You like worms, Jerry? That’s what they make the hamburgers out of, ground-up worms.”
Laughter, shrieks, and throw-up sounds followed this remark, which Rachel realized must have come from Adam. So he could talk in sentences when he chose—and he knew something about juvenile psychology.
Her face flushed with amusement, Cheryl turned from the counter when Rachel entered. “There you are. Would you rather have turkey or roast beef in your sandwich?”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll have something later, after you go.” Painfully conscious of Tony, enthroned at the head of the table—fingers tapping—she took the knife from Cheryl. “Shall I make some sandwiches for you to take with you?”
“That might be a good idea,” Tony said. “At the rate we’re going we’ll still be in Pennsylvania at dinnertime. Cheryl, will you PLEASE sit down and eat something? It’s eleven-thirty.”
“Eat a worm sandwich,” Jerry chanted. “Stinky worms, slimy worms, yucky worms—”
It was Adam who kept the situation from erupting. Unobtrusively and in virtual silence he somehow persuaded Cheryl to eat, and finished loading the van. It was only a few minutes past noon when Cheryl said in mild surprise, “I guess we’re ready.”
“Finally,” Tony said. “Let’s go, then.”
He led the way, out of the family room and across the corridor. When they entered the shop Cheryl stopped.
“Darn, I forgot to put the quilts away. It will only take a minute—”
“I’ll do it,” Rachel said quickly.
Cheryl glanced at her husband. He didn’t have to speak, his tight lips and lowering brows were as eloquent as a shout. “Thanks, Rachel. The acid-free tissue…But you know that. Adam, did you put the closed sign on the door? Make sure you lock it after we leave.”
“Don’t you want to keep the shop open until Christmas Eve?” Rachel asked. “Since I’ll be here anyway—”
“Don’t be a fool,” Tony said roughly. “Keep this place locked and barred and don’t let anybody in. Use the side door instead of this one. Is that clear?”
“Darling, you don’t need to be so rude,” Cheryl murmured. “It’s nice of you to offer, Rachel, but we had already planned to close the shop over the holidays. Kara will cope with our regular customers. You don’t have to do anything. Unless—”
“If we’re ready,” Tony said between his teeth.
“Okay. Here, darling, let me help you.”
“I don’t need you to help me. Get your coat.”
Biting her lip, Cheryl went out. Rachel started to follow.
“Rachel,” Tony said.
The sound of his voice pronouncing her name made her knees go weak. But Adam was within earshot, waiting at the door. Surely Tony wouldn’t say anything in front of Adam. Unless they had already discussed it, unless Adam knew?
