Authors: Shirley Jump
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop? Walk around? Maybe we should. You need to move your legs, Ma.”
The hospital was forty-five minutes behind us. My mother had dutifully written down the doctor’s instructions, even though he’d also given her a typed copy of his exit advice. She’d taken her prescription, gone over the writing on the label with him twice, then tucked it in her purse, and kept both on her lap ever since we’d left. “I’m fine, Hilary. If we keep stopping, we’ll never get to California.”
A little blue sign appeared, announcing a rest stop in three miles. I put on my directional, moving into the right lane. Already ready to get there, miles ahead. From the rearview mirror, I saw Nick smirk.
“No more Stormin’ Norman?”
“Shut up, Nick,” I muttered. Later, I’d show him where to put that nickname for my driving style.
“What does he mean, Stormin’ Norman?”
Nick shoved his face forward, right between us, all sweet
ness and light. “First Gulf War, Mrs. Delaney. Norman Schwarzkopf just went on in there, plowing over anything in his path. That’s pretty much the way Hilary
normally
drives.”
My mother raised a brow. “Oh, really?”
Oh, Nick was going to pay, and pay big later. “I have to, Ma. It’s Boston. I think Dukakis reclassified the city as a war zone back in the eighties.”
“He did not.”
I shrugged, and kept on plugging toward the exit. I would not raise her blood pressure. Or mine. It was bad enough I’d let a pig talk me into finishing this trip.
“I told you, I don’t need to walk yet.”
“You’re going to walk and that’s that.”
“When we get to the Illinois border. That way, at least we’ve made some progress.”
“Ma, that’s almost an hour away. The doctor said—”
“I know what the doctor said, Hilary,” my mother exploded, her voice louder than I’d ever heard it before. It reverberated off the interior of the minivan, startling Reginald, who scrambled to his feet with an oink-grunt and backed up against the side of the van. Nick reached out a hand and soothed it over the pig’s head. Reginald sighed and pressed up against Nick. My mother smiled. Jeez. The man had everyone in the van on his side. “I have Dr. Barton’s instructions.”
“Then why the hell haven’t you been following his or any other doctor’s all this time? You didn’t go in for your regular blood tests, or your Coumadin wouldn’t have gotten out of whack. I talked to your doctor, Ma. I know what went wrong.”
“Hilary, you don’t understand. I have my reasons.”
“Reasons you choose to keep to yourself. Especially the
really big one. Like why we are driving to California when we should be driving you home so that you can put your feet up and be near a phone with
9–1–1 service?
” The last part shrieked out of me. Especially since parts of Indiana had limited cell reception, which raised my blood pressure and had me popping aspirin just to keep my head from exploding with worry.
Nick sat back, quiet, and out of the fray. Wise man.
“I want to see my brother. I want to see California.” Ma looked over her shoulder at my father, half-folded to keep his head from blocking my rear view. “I want your father to see California.”
“Why?” I flicked on the directional again. I didn’t care what she said, we were getting off, and she was walking, if I had to put one of her feet in front of the other myself. “You keep saying because you want to, but not why. What are you, two?”
“I am sixty-seven years old, Hilary Jean.” She gave me the evil eye she’d perfected during all the nights I’d come in after curfew, or with beer on my breath, or with a C on a report card. It didn’t quite have the same effect on me at thirty-six as it had at sixteen. “I don’t have to tell you why I want to do anything.”
I gritted my teeth. She made me insane, but I searched deep inside myself and found a hidden well of patience. The well was about as shallow as a teardrop, but it would have to do, because California was still a long ways off. “I am driving you all the way across the country, Ma. You do too owe me an explanation.”
Nick leaned forward, clearly not smart enough to stay out of our argument. He caught my eye in the rearview mirror, as if trying to imbue me with some visual patience. “Mrs. Delaney, I don’t mean to intrude, but I think the little hospital thing—”
“Little hospital thing?”
I mouthed at him.
“—gave Hilary a scare,” he went on, ignoring me. “So what do you say we stop here, stretch our legs a bit, let Reginald out, give him one more taste of Indiana, and then go on our way? I could use a snack anyway.”
My mother considered this a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Nick.”
“Just like that, you’re agreeing with him? After I—”
Nick put a hand on my shoulder, his wide palm as calming as a Valium. “I think we
all
could use a snack. And a break.”
So we did as Nick said. I thought of nominating him for the U.N. by the time we were done. He clearly had hidden skills in peacekeeping.
This was part of what I’d always loved—
loved?
I left that word alone for now—about Nick. How he could smooth over a situation, as easily as he could smooth the wood he worked with. If I was Stormin’ Norman, he was Gandhi, making sure no innocent civilians were harmed in the process.
I flicked a glance in his direction, but he was no longer watching me. Instead, his gaze had gone to the passing scenery.
He never had told me where he’d been those nights he’d gone out. Even though he was here, I sensed a fence between us, a line in the sand. And like sand was wont to do, there would come a time when it would all shift beneath me—
And probably leave me with nothing but some algae and a bunch of cracked shells.
At the rest stop, we ended up with ordinary coffees this time, because the fanciest thing available was a gloppy cappuccino that sputtered out of a wheezing, dirty machine in the gas station. I grabbed a packet of M&M’s, two bags of
Doritos, a fully caffeinated and sugared Coke and a chocolate chip Grandma’s cookie. Ma didn’t so much as glance my way when I dumped my junk food frenzy on the counter, slapped a few bills in front of the pierced and bored clerk, then headed back to the van, after Ma shrugged off my attempts to help her.
Before I could get there, Nick wrapped his arm around my waist and stopped me. I leaned against him, wishing I could read his mind, then again not so sure I wanted to know what he was thinking about us right now. “It’s going to be all right, Hil.”
“She won’t listen to me,” I said, the words tearing out of me on a sob, but I refused to cry, and kept the tears in check. “I can’t do this if she’s going to break all the rules. That’s what landed her in the hospital the first time.”
“Maybe she’s not listening because you’re not talking.”
“What do you call this?” I mocked mouth movement with my fingers, quacking them up and down.
Nick raised his brows, then took the junk food out of my hands and climbed into the van, taking the driver’s seat before I could protest. I sulked a little in the back, then brightened when he dumped my snacks into my lap with a smile. He added a Clark bar that he had bought to the stack. “Here. Eat up. Sugar always makes you feel better,” he said. And he was right.
The man knew me well. He’d clearly paid attention, and I appreciated that.
My mother settled into the passenger’s side, sharing a snack of crackers with Reginald, making sure she broke the treat into teeny tiny pieces before feeding them to her pig, who
slobbered said pieces all over the floor at my feet. I rolled my eyes and tried not to gag.
When everyone was buckled in and the car was gassed up, Nick turned to my mother. “Mrs. Delaney, I looked at our route, and I know you wanted to see some travel spots with Mr. Delaney,” he said, as if my father were real, and sitting right there beside her, “but I think it might be wise if we spent the next couple of days getting some miles under us. There’s a lot of the country to see when we get closer to California. I’ve been out that way myself and I can show you some great things. Where the Donner party disappeared, for one. That’ll make a great snapshot, especially the lake. It’s gorgeous, even though it has a sad history.”
“You never told me you’d been to California,” I said. When had he gone? Who had he gone with? Suddenly, I was Jealous Jan, which was completely unlike me. I opened the M&M’s and popped a few into my mouth, quick, figuring it had to be a dip in my blood sugar.
He grinned. “You never asked.”
“What else don’t I know about you?”
Nick pivoted on his seat, draping his arm over the headrest, his brown eyes meeting mine, a dare in them. “Marry me and you’ll find out everything.”
My mother looked at Nick, looked at me. I fully expected her to put in her two cents, but she didn’t. She kept silent. Waiting, watching, for my response. I hadn’t felt this much pressure since the eighth grade spelling bee.
I yanked the road atlas out from between them and flipped to the full map of the United States. Didn’t see a thing on the pages, but still studied them, avoiding everyone else’s
stares. “Where did you say the Donner party disappeared?” I glanced at Nick. “I might have some plans for that place.”
He just laughed, put the van in gear, and started driving.
Miles to go—and lots of secrets still untold.
That night, in a four-star hotel room we splurged on in Omaha—with Nick finessing the desk clerk so that Reginald could room with my mother—I crawled into bed beside Nick, spooning my body against the familiar warmth of his. It had only been a few days since I had lain in his pillow-top queen in Boston, but it felt like ten years. “You’re warm.”
“And you’re too far away.” He rolled over and hauled me into his arms, his lips landing first on my forehead, then the bridge of my nose, then my mouth, his kiss so known to me, I could have described it and yet never managed to find exactly the right words to capture how Nick managed to both ignite a fire in me and manage to make me feel—for the moments I spent in his arms—safe and content.
I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to ask him any questions. Right now, I didn’t even care about the answers. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to feel much like talking, either.
He wrapped me tighter, tighter I think than he ever had before, and shifted, deepening his kiss. I twisted beneath him,
running my hands down his back, slipping my fingers beneath the plain cotton edge of his boxers, something that on another man would be considered dull, but on Nick, who had the muscles and planes of a man who worked hard for a living, they seemed right, perfect. Sexy in their own way. I began to slide the fabric down, but he reached back and stopped me. “No. Tonight it’s all about you.”
I grinned. “Yeah, you say that now, and then who always gets to ride the carousel first?”
He chuckled. “Not tonight, Hilary.” He buried his face in my neck, his kisses heating up, one right after the other. His hands cupped my breasts through the cotton of my T-shirt, bunching the fabric in a fisted rose, sliding it up my thighs.
I arched beneath him, knowing with the familiarity of an old lover how it would be, the anticipation sweet and aching. His erection pressed against my pelvis, already in concert with the quickening in my veins, the pooling want. Nick watched me, brown eyes glittering in the dark, moonlight reflecting in tiny stars.
A long, breathless moment passed between us, filled with expectation. I knew what was coming next. Knew how good it would be. Simply being away from him had been foreplay enough, and I was ready to get down to business. A smile curved across my face, the smile Nick could read as easily as the morning news. He pressed a finger to my lips. “Patience, Hilary, is a virtue.”
“Ah, but I don’t have any virtues.”
He chuckled. “Which is half the reason I love you.”
Even said in jest, the words took on new meaning, and I couldn’t return them, though the sound of them coming from him sent an odd new thrill through me. My mind sa
vored them as my body savored his kiss, tasting the syllables, for the first time, holding them in a mental file that had never been opened before. The one in the back, kept under lock and key. What would it be like to tell him the same thing? To trust him with my heart?
To think about a future beyond today?
And then, all thoughts of love and futures left, as Nick’s finger trailed down along my jaw, my throat, the valley of my breasts, to the tail of my shirt, teasing along the hem, skirting my skin while he kissed me, his mouth sure and firm, as intimate with mine as two vines on one tree.
He lifted my shirt high above my head, flinging it onto the floor. It landed with a soft plop in the darkness. Nick’s hands danced along my skin, warm, work-chafed palms and guitar-callused fingertips that set off a fiery trail he soon followed with his mouth.
I did as he’d said and lay there, accepting the royal treatment, though every inch of me longed to give back as good as I was getting.
It felt odd at first to be so passive, especially with a man who had enjoyed many healthy give-and-takes with me. In fact, the giving and the taking had been half the fun with Nick. But now…
Just taking was…divine. Giving myself up entirely to him, to this no-responsibility, no decisions, just being sensation felt damned good.
Nick spent time, considerable, sweet, amazing time, on my body, swirling his tongue around my nipples, sucking the tender tip into his mouth, until I thought I’d die, then releasing the first to do the same to the other one.
“Nick,” I said, my hands in his hair, wanting to haul him back to my mouth, and at the same time wanting him to do that all over again.
“Let go, Hilary,” he whispered. “Just let go.”
“I’m doing that,” I said, half laughing, half…something else that nearly bordered on a moan.
“Oh, yeah, then why are you still tense?”
“You call this tense?” And I slid along his body, skin against skin, heat against heat.
“What I mean isn’t about sex, it’s about in here,” he said, running his hand along my left breast, tracing where my heart beat. “Let me in.”
I spread my legs, teasing him, smiling at him. “My door is open, Mr. Warner.”
“Ah, Hilary,” he said my name on a sigh. “In your heart.”
In answer, I reached down and slid off his boxers, raising my hips to meet his, bringing us together in the only way I knew how, the only way that kept my heart safe. Because that was the one door I had always kept shut and he knew it. The part of me that had envied Sally in Sandusky was always beaten down by the part that feared getting lost in a relationship that required giving all of yourself to another person.
Nick gave up the battle for possession of carotid arteries and slid into me with a deep sigh. He made love to me, his strokes long, perfectly tuned to what I needed, bringing me to an orgasm that sent those stars into my eyes, circling my brain, erasing every thought for one amazing moment.
It was good—with Nick, it was always good. But this time, our lovemaking had a different edge. Either because Nick had taken over the reins, or because I had missed him so much, I wasn’t sure.
When we were done, Nick once again pulled me into his arms, sharing the heat from his body, the beat of his heart. I listened to those regular pulses, my head on his chest, my hand pressed to the rise and fall of that beat.
“I really do want to marry you,” he said.
I traced the curlicue of the thin, tiny hairs on his chest, like dark question marks. “Why?”
“Because I love you. Because you’ve become the first thing I think about in the day, the last thing I think about at night. Because I can’t imagine spending a day of my life without you.”
The words terrified me, and it felt like the walls were closing in, pressing down on my lungs. I had to fight the urge to run again. “But why
marry
me? We could try living together again. It works for Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell. Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins. Oprah, for Pete’s sake.”
“Unlike them, I
do
need a piece of paper now, Hilary.” He tipped up my chin. “What am I supposed to tell the guys at the bar? I’m embarrassed. My girlfriend won’t make an honest man out of me.”
I laughed at the joke. “You are not.”
“Yeah, I am. You might not believe this, but even guys wonder what’s wrong with them when their girlfriends turn down a serious marriage proposal twice in one week.”
I went back to studying the question marks on his chest. So many of them, like a mirror of my brain. “You know how I feel about marriage. You used to feel the same way.”
“I don’t anymore. And I also know that you’re more committed to things than you think. You’ve worked at the same place for fifteen years. You’ve been with me for four. And
you’re driving across the country with your mother. That’s enough to
get
you committed.”
I let out a gust. What was with him? It was like he suddenly decided to get on the adult train. “That doesn’t mean I want a ring on my finger.”
“Or does it mean you just don’t want a ring on your finger from
me?
” When I didn’t answer, he rolled away and out of the bed, pulling on his boxers, followed by his jeans. He flicked the button fly closed. “Maybe you should go sleep in your mom’s room. She’s got two doubles. That way, if something happens—”
“Are you kicking me out of my own room?”
He stood there, staring at me, and I could see in his eyes and the droop of his shoulders that I had disappointed him. Again. “Yeah.”
I slid out of the bed, pulled on my T-shirt, not even caring that it was inside-out. “What did you think, Nick? That you would ride in on the big white horse—excuse me, big white airplane—and I’d be so grateful that you showed up that I’d rush off to the nearest chapel? Believe me, I
am
grateful you are here. I couldn’t think of another person I would rather have by my side right now. But just because I want you here doesn’t mean I want to get married.”
He shook his head. “You know, Hilary, I don’t get you. Every time you come close to having everything you want, you go and ruin it.”
“Me? You’ve done it, too, Nick.” I threw up my hands. “You forget that our relationship has a track record. You haven’t been so perfect yourself.”
“I’m here now, Hilary, and I’m serious this time. We’ve
been together for four years. That has to count for something, and it also means it’s about damned time we moved forward.” He picked up his shirt, put it on, then grabbed his shoes off the floor and headed for the door. “I’m going down to the bar to get good and drunk and forget we had this conversation because if I don’t, I’m going to have a hell of a time getting in that van tomorrow morning.” He grasped the doorknob but didn’t open the door. Instead, he hung his head. My heart screamed at me to call him back, to undo this, to stop him from leaving, but my brain knew better, and kept my heart quiet. My hands fisted at my sides, and I sank onto the bed, letting him go.
“I’ll go with you to California,” he said, his voice low and hurt, “but after we get back, I think we should end this. If you stand in stagnant water too long, you get sick.”
Then he left.