Dream Keeper (9 page)

Ike Whitman looked up from his textbook,
The
Anatomy Coloring Book,
in time to see Dench take out the door across from the desk. The student’s eyes grew wide behind his spectacles and his mouth formed the sibilant word his mother kept telling him not to use. The two big men in front of him were in a hurry and they looked ready to fight. And Ike could tell that the one doing the talking meant every word.

Trying to think fast, to remember everything he’d been told in orientation, Ike heard him make his demand again and didn’t have a clue as to how to answer him. The woman he was asking about—what if she was an abuse victim? Lord, what if she had died in an accident or something?
I don’t want to be the one to tell him!
Ike looked around and found himself alone.
Now how the hell did that happen?

Dench’s fist landed hard on the counter in front of him. “Where is my wife?”

“Sir, I need to check…” Ike stood and looked up at the big man.

Andi Marcus stepped behind the counter and stood next to the student. She gave him a look that made him step back, then turned to Dench. “Did I hear you ask for Mrs. Traylor?” Dench nodded. “I did her intake. Let me get the room number for you.”

Grateful, Dench nodded. AJ clapped a hand to his shoulder and he nodded again when Ms. Marcus gave him the number. He turned away, then back again. “Is she all right?”

“She’s stable.” Andi wiped a suddenly sweaty hand on the hip of her plum-colored scrubs and watched the tall men run down the hall.
The husband has nice eyes
, she thought and a little piece of her heart broke for him, already knowing the news he would get when he reached his wife.

Ike Whitman stood behind her and wondered if it was too late to change his major.

Taking the same path Marlea had chosen, Dench and AJ climbed the stairs to the third floor. Stepping out into the sterile corridor, it took a moment to get their bearings. Dench reached out to the first person passing—a youngish man with an afro in baggy brown corduroy pants, a tired blue shirt and a white lab coat.

Hand on the man’s arm, Dench looked into his eyes. “I’m looking for Rissa, Marissa Traylor. I’m her husband, and they brought her here.”

“Yeah,” the man turned and pointed. “I just saw her. Her room is right down there.”

“I still don’t know what happened. Is she all right?”

AJ shifted from foot to foot until the doctor pulled them into a small room behind the nurse’s station. He propped a hip on the desk and looked down at the clipboard in his hands. He read a page of notes, then looked at the two men. “Okay, here’s what I know.” The young ER doctor tried to explain, but the medical terms he strung together meant nothing to Dench.

“Look dude, I know football, I don’t know medicine. Doctor…” Dench peered at the man’s nametag. “Griffin. Talk English, Dr. Griffin.”

Recognition flashed in the doctor’s heavy-lidded eyes. He jabbed a finger in the air and laughed. “That’s where I know you from! I should have connected the name—Traylor. You’re the coach, right? Defense, yeah.”

Dench planted a heavy hand in the center of the man’s chest and looked hard. “Tell me about my wife.”

“Whoa.” The doctor took a step back and glanced at AJ. “Uh, yeah. Your wife is stable, but she lost the baby. Spontaneous abortion.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’s with her sister-in-law right now.” He looked at AJ, recognition ticking behind his eyes. “Your wife?”

“Yeah.”

The doctor folded his arms over the clipboard. “Mrs. Traylor was in shock when they brought her in, and she did lose the baby.” He sucked at his lower lip. “This happens sometimes, and from all I could tell on examination, there was no specific cause. Depression is setting in right about now…She’s going to have a lot of guilt, but there is no blame to be placed. She may just want to be alone…”

“I’m her husband. She’ll see me.”

“Let me get the sister out and you can see her, okay?” He looked at his watch, then back at Dench. “Just don’t stay too long, okay?”

When he moved along the corridor, AJ and Dench followed. The trio stopped at Rissa’s door and the doctor tapped lightly. The door opened and Marlea’s face appeared.

“Dench?” She glanced behind her before stepping into the hall to hug him. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” She looked helpless as the doctor left them alone. “She’s asleep now. They gave her something and she’s asleep.

I don’t know for how long. Did the doctor tell you anything?”

“He said she lost the baby, that this can just happen sometimes. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“She’s afraid it’s her fault, you know. She thinks she did something wrong.”

“And that I’ll blame her.”

Marlea passed a hand over her hair and shrugged.

“I don’t,” Dench said. His big shoulders heaved, moving his heavy jacket, and his hand splayed against the brass doorplate. “I don’t blame her for anything and I guess all I can do now is stand by her and keep on loving her.” He pushed the door open and slipped into the shadowed room beyond.

AJ and Marlea watched the door swing closed behind him and, needing to do something, drew closer to each other. They stood watching the door while hospital business went on around them.

“Do you want to look in on her?” Marlea finally asked.

“No, I’ll wait. Let Dench have this time.” His arm went around her shoulders.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home, Silk.” His arm tightened around her and his cheek came to rest against her hair. “I want to go home and hug my children and love my wife.”

Tipping her head, she caught his mouth with hers and whispered, “You always know the right thing to say.”

He nodded and they leaned against each other on the way to the elevator.

Dench stood alone in the shadows and watched Rissa sleep. Her face was tight and her dark lashes moved fitfully along the curve of her cheek. She whimpered and pulled her knees high under the sheet. Then almost like magic, he saw the tear. Silvery in the diffused light, it gathered along the line of her lashes before following the line of her short nose. When it stopped at the corner of her generous mouth, it was joined by another, and as he watched, the flow became steady.

Stepping close to the bed, careful not to disturb her, he pulled tissue from the box and dabbed at the tears. Déjà vu swept him. Was it only last night that he’d watched her sleep and touched her lips? Last night she’d smacked her lips and it had made him laugh. This afternoon, she cried in her sleep and he felt water gather in his own eyes.

Trying to man up, he sniffed and dropped into the chair Marlea had abandoned. Rissa suddenly lifted a hand and cried out. He caught her slender, long-fingered hand in the air and held it.
She’s so cold
, he marveled, remembering holding her hand the night she’d told him about the baby. Closing her hand in both of his, he tried to share his warmth with her. Her face twisted and she pulled her hand away, leaving him alone and watching the tears still marking her face.

So much pain. He could see it around her closed eyes and tight mouth. Reaching, he used his thumb to smooth the soft hair framing her face, the tiny bracketed worry lines between her closed eyes, and the tear trickling along her nose. Concentrating, he followed the tear’s course to the corner of her mouth. He touched the tear and she sighed.

“I love you, no matter what,” he whispered, watching her. “You know I love you like Jesus loved the church.”

She sighed again and opened her eyes. Puffy and red-rimmed, her nut brown eyes searched his face before she spoke. His thumb touched the corner of her mouth and she sighed. “We didn’t make it. I tried, but…” Her voice cracked and more tears fell. “We didn’t make it.”

He stood enough to slide a hip to her bed. Sitting close, he pulled her into his arms, cradling her like a child. “This time, Rissa.”

She hiccupped enough to stop the tears and determination claimed her eyes when she nodded and whispered, “Next time, Dench.”

Chapter 7

Marlea parked her car and sat thinking for a minute, tempted to turn the key, shift the gears and roll away. What good would it really do to get out and go into a stupid restaurant, anyway?
Go in there and smile and try to choke down a meal with them watching my every move. Especially Libby. That little woman can’t figure out whether she’s a track and field coach or mother-confessor to the Western world. She’s still pissed that we didn’t tell her about the baby in the first place. I can still hear her nagging me about keeping secrets, saying I almost kept AJ secret right up until we got to the church.

Libby Belcher was a great coach and a better friend. She’d been with Marlea since college. As an assistant coach, she’d helped Marlea build a stronger than average college career, then helped her move beyond PAC 10 and onto an international stage. As a friend, she’d been at Marlea’s side through both the good and the bad times.

And now this…

Grabbing her purse from the passenger’s seat, Marlea stalled for time. Pulling tissues, tiny teddy bears, mini-cars, and the whistle she’d confiscated from Jabari during church last Sunday from deep within her purse, she smiled. They were little things that reminded her of her children.

Damn
, she sniffed, suddenly ambushed by small, tender memories that wouldn’t matter to anyone else in the world
. Except me. And Rissa would sell her soul for little memories like these
. She swept the toys back into her purse, then dug deep for her lipstick.

She found her lipstick and opened the tube, gliding color over her lips without benefit of a mirror. Touching the corners of her mouth with a finger, she closed the lipstick and wondered what she was going to say.
I walk in there, I have to tell them something. There is no way that Jeannette and Connie are not going to ask for the details that I know Rissa refuses to talk about. And Lord, I know that she’s the one with the big mouth, but if she doesn’t tell her business, it’s not my place to do it for her.

Across the lot, a square-bodied man in a dark suit and sparkling white shirt escorted a thickly pregnant woman to a small car. Marlea watched him take exaggerated care to install the woman in the car. He even straightened the seatbelt and took the time to make sure that it was fitted to her maternal girth. Smiling, the woman seemed content to let him take care of her.
Kind of how Rissa was with Dench
.

Damn
. Marlea’s eyelids fluttered, beating back the threat of quick tears.
It’s been a month, she’s home and even if she’s sadder than I could ever imagine, she’s with Dench.
Marlea touched the tip of a finger to her eyes to block a tear.
Am I ever going to stop sniveling? It’s not like my being weepy is going to fix things for Rissa and Dench. God knows, if I thought it would help, I would carry their baby for them. It’s just so sad, and she’s still so hurt…Guilt is such a heavy load…

The couple in the Nissan were laughing, teasing, his hand rubbing circles on the woman’s belly.
That’s the way it should be
, Marlea thought, sighing.
That’s the way it was with AJ and me.
Maybe that’s the way it will be for Rissa and Dench…someday.

The sharp rap on the window snatched her from the privacy of her thoughts and made her jump. “Are you going to join us, or what?” Libby’s violet eyes and spiky black hair were immediately recognizable.

“A little respect, please. Just give me a minute.” Marlea collected her things and stepped from the car.

Libby took a step back and whistled. “You sure do clean up good. Isn’t that suit a little fancy for a school teacher?”

“I have a little business to take care of this afternoon, so I’m wearing my official clothes.”

Libby cocked her head and grinned. “If I dressed like that for business, my husband would swear that it was monkey business, but you look gorgeous.” Her eyes fell to Marlea’s feet and she smiled at the simple black pumps, low-heeled, with a tapered toe. She knew they’d been specially made. “How’s the running these days?”

“The foot is fine,” Marlea grinned, tapping her toe against the asphalt, “and so is the rest of me.”

“Smart ass.”

“Running is great.” Marlea tapped her toe again. “AJ and I are planning a 10K for Project ABLE in a few weeks.”

“Good to know.” Libby’s smile hitched higher. “There was a time, right after your accident, when I wasn’t so sure that you were going to continue.”

“That makes two of us, but then AJ came into my life.”
And he made me two promises—that I would run again, and that I would dance with him. He kept both promises.
”My husband is good at what he does, and therapy worked wonders.”

“Something worked wonders.” Libby opened her arms and reached for a hug. “And just for the record, I love this suit. You look so smart and sexy—nothing like a runner. You know, you always wear so much blue, it’s nice to see you in another color. I love this green on you.” She paused and stepped back, then nodded. “AJ bought this one, didn’t he? The way it fits and the color, yeah, that’s him all over. Girl, you know you hit the jackpot with that man—good looks and good taste. And on top of that he’s crazy about you.”

“And sometimes, crazy is a good thing,” Marlea agreed, looping an arm through Libby’s. “Let’s walk and talk.” Across the parking lot, the square-bodied man finally satisfied himself with his wife’s safety and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. Marlea kept walking and tried not to think of the couple.

“…thinking of building a gym so we can stay put,” Libby said. “What do you think?” Marlea pulled the door open and they stepped into the City Grille. “Marlea,” Libby frowned. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?”

Starting up the winding marble stairs, her hand on the brass rail, Marlea looked back, knowing that there was no way out. “I’m sorry, Libby, I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

“I
said
that Hal and I are looking at maybe building a training complex, actually a gym with a track, so that I can stay here and we can enjoy being married to each other, instead of our work.”

“Works well for AJ and me.”

“Yes, but Project ABLE is not the only thing you do. AJ has his physical therapy practice, and you’re still teaching. Hal and I would have a 24/7 arrangement—coaching and training all day, but neither one of us would leave at night.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way. You know you love him.”

“Yeah. For now, but if we were together nonstop, I might become homicidal.”

“Please,” Marlea laughed. “You two have been married for almost twenty years and you keep finding interesting things to love about the man. You, my friend, will be fine.”

“You might be right. That man really is my all day study, and my all night dream,” Libby sighed.

“You are so mushy, it’s almost embarrassing,” Marlea laughed.

“I may be embarrassing, but those two ladies look hungry.” Libby walked across the red-carpeted dining room to the table Jeannette and Connie already occupied. Sliding into her chair, she looked around for the hostess and happily accepted the menu she offered.

“Love the suit, girl. Where’s Rissa?” Connie’s eyes went to the door beyond their blue linen covered table, searching.

“Thanks.” Marlea opened her menu. “Don’t bother looking, she called to cancel. I got the call while I was on my way. She made a lame excuse about getting herself together to go back to the office—then she hung up before I could say anything. She’s been getting ready to go back for the last two weeks.”

“So that means she’s not coming today, so that she can avoid going back to work tomorrow? We were getting together today to cheer her up. She agreed to come so that she could get out of the house—it’s been more than a month since…”

“She decided to become agoraphobic,” Jeannette muttered behind her menu.

“You don’t decide to become agoraphobic.”

“She did.” Jeannette lowered her menu. “I’m ready to order.”

“How is she handling her workload, Marlea?” Libby murmured her drink order to their server and shook her head. “Telecommuting? Working from home?”

“Every day.”

“Nice when you can do everything with your computer.” Jeannette huffed and planted her elbows on the table. “All we wanted to do was get her out to do something normal, something to get her back to herself.”

“Damn.” Crushed, all of the women sat silently for a moment.

“You’ve got to know that losing this baby is killing her,” Connie said softly.

“And Dench,” Libby said, her voice even softer. “Poor Dench, how is he taking it?”

“He’s still not talking about it. I mean, he cares about Rissa, he’s taking great care of her, but I don’t think he’s taking care of himself.” When all three women turned to look at her, Marlea pressed her lips together. “AJ’s been good about spending time with both of them—for all the good it’s done.”

“Not easy on you and AJ either, huh?”

“Loss is never easy for anyone, but this is worse than anything I could ever imagine.” Marlea let the words die. “And she still wants a baby.”

“Bet she can’t pull that up on her computer,” Jeannette muttered.

* * *

Glaring at the computer, Dench double-clicked the mouse and brought up another game of Hearts. It was the twentieth game he’d played over the last two hours. He held his breath as his hand whipped into place, displaying his cards face up. He chose three cards and passed. Still holding his breath, he watched the two and three of diamonds and the queen of spades snap into place. His fist hit the desk, making the laptop bounce. “Sucks.”

“Should have listened to Aunt Linda. Never bet on anything you can’t guarantee you’ll win.” He closed the game and was tempted to open another—maybe the next hand would be better.
Don’t bet on it. Your track record on bets hasn’t been very good lately.

A week ago, two weeks, hell, a month ago, he would have bet that they would have been past this. A month ago, he would have bet that as much as they both wanted the baby, they would have mourned their loss and found a way to hold onto each other in the process. Instead, she was guilt-bound and locked in depression so deep that he wondered if she would ever find the light again.

And I need for her to find the light.
Spending his nights on the cold side of their king-sized bed was torture. Lying there night after night, a hand-span away from the woman who had been more than friend and lover almost from the moment he’d first seen her, was more punishment than any one man deserved. Sharing their bed with the guilt she’d strapped on only made it worse.

And the days were no better. How she managed to actually get work done was beyond him. In the house, she passed him like a ghost, moving from the bedroom to the bathroom, to the kitchen, and into her office with her eyes downcast and her smile missing. She’d pretty much abandoned her stylish wardrobe for his T-shirts and sweats, and when she thought he wasn’t looking or listening, she spent hours in the small suite they’d planned as a nursery.

This can’t go on any longer. I need her back.

Elbow on the desk, Dench dropped his forehead into his palm and logged off the computer with his other hand.
Stalled as long as I can and I can’t ke
ep putting it off; I need to go talk to her now.
He pushed up from the desk, rocking the slate gray leather chair as he stood.

His feet were slow as he walked from the office. Following the low drone of the television, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and wandered through his house.
Used to feel like a home,
he thought.
Now it’s just a house.
He shook off the urge to go back to the computer, back to his game of Hearts, and kept walking.

Any other time, the stark, white-accented chocolates and blues of his home were soothing, but they suddenly reminded him of the muted colors of the hospital. And he’d thought of almost nothing but how she’d looked in the hospital since she’d come home, silent and betrayed.

Turning the corner, he caught her reflection in the dressing room mirror before he entered the bedroom. Rissa sat in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. His T-shirt tented around her slender form, the short sleeves ending at her elbows, and his gray sweats were rolled up at her ankles, leaving her bare feet exposed. No makeup and her uncombed hair completed the picture and made him sadder.
Should have kept playing cards. At least I would have had a chance.

“Hey, baby.” He walked into the bedroom and she barely turned her head as he sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you watching?”

“Nothing.”

“Mind if I watch it with you?” He ran the pad of his thumb along her leg.

“You can if you want to.” She moved the leg a millimeter—just enough to lose the contact.

“Rissa…”

She kept her eyes on the television.

“I want us to get back to being us.”

She dropped her head and inhaled deeply. When she looked up at him, her eyes were brighter. “I want that, too.”

“You have any idea about how we should go about it?”

“This is hard, Dench.” On her knees, she scooted close enough to look into his eyes. “Can we go slow? Real slow?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” He opened his arms to her and she came to him. Stiff at first, the closer she came, the more fluid and graceful she became. All warm curves and soft flesh with a scent he knew as her own, she slipped into his lap, fitting like a key to a lock. Her gentle hands were dry and warmer than they’d been in weeks as they lightly framed his face. When he leaned to kiss her, her lids fluttered nervously before her mouth met his.

The kiss began slowly, quiet and sensuous, gifted with patience. His lips were a warm and gentle contact as they felt their way around the kiss, demanding nothing. Nearly a month of sleeping in the same bed and never touching had a cost and a passionate penalty. Without warning, he felt a desperate craving for more of their simple shared human warmth roaring through him. She felt it, too, and her body stiffened in his arms. The pain of threatened rejection was instantaneous, but he’d promised to go slow and, as his hands slipped from her face to her shoulders, he held onto the promise.