My Heart Can't Tell You No (28 page)

“I doubt it. The water’s probably up to your nose.”

“What do you mean?” she asked slowly as she eyed him.

“Go take a look,” he said simply.

She moved to the cellar door. When she opened it she couldn’t see anything, but, as she moved out of the light from the lantern, she jumped back in frightened surprise. There were only four steps showing; water covered everything below that. She couldn’t remember how many steps there were, but most cellars had about eleven of that size. She slammed the door and turned back to him.

“Where’s it coming from?!”

“The ground—where else?”

“Is it—is it—going to come up to this floor?”

“I doubt it. It’ll go out the cellar windows and into the yard before it comes up here.” He inhaled on his cigarette again. “You see Lew lately?”

“No,” she grumbled as she took a cushion from the couch and put it on the floor where she had been sitting. “I mean, yes. Sort of. Last month, and I called over today to be sure everything was okay.”

“And was it?”

“Do you really care? You didn’t come to see him once when he was in the hospital.”

“Probably because I didn’t know he was in.”

“He’s been in twice in the past two years,” she told him smartly.

“What for?”

“Heart attacks. Mild ones.”

“Lew? He’s only forty-four isn’t he?” His shock changed to an expression of thought. “Yeah, I guess if anyone could be in line for one, it’d be someone built like him.”

“And what’s wrong with his build? He may not stand six foot and weigh only one-eighty but he’s a better man than you’ll ever be!” She stared at him. She had thought he liked Lew.

“You’re right, he is a better man than I’ll ever be. There isn’t a man alive who can compare to Lew Cressinger. I know that. I never meant otherwise. I was just saying his weight would invite heart trouble. If heart disease came from a bad attitude Lew would be the healthiest man alive. I guess that’s what took me by surprise. You said they were mild attacks though?”

“Yes. He’s taking shots of insulin too. But he’s getting out and about. He just grabs his father’s old wooden cane and tromps over the dike like there’s nothing wrong at all. I guess he’ll be all right if he doesn’t overdo it. We still go to football games together. I think he only lets me go along so he can have a visit with Jackie.” She smiled softly as her eyes held the memory of Lew holding her son on the dike or on the bleachers, often putting his cap on the youngster’s head. It was something special; Lew didn’t let just anyone touch his cap!

“Don’t you let him see the boy otherwise?”

“Of course I let him see him. I don’t think I could stop it if I wanted to. And I certainly don’t want to. Jackie loves Lew as much as he loves Dad, and John and Tom.” She got up and moved to the window, staring out at the darkness.

He moved to stand behind her. “You said he’s using a cane now. Why?”

“I don’t know for sure. Maybe arthritis. But I never hear him complaining about it. So I really can’t say.” She turned and saw there were only inches separating them, so she backed up to the wall, gaining only another inch as she leaned back and held the blanket over her shoulders, unconsciously twisting her wedding band again as she looked at the contrast of the white T-shirt against the brown skin of his upper chest. “But really, he’s doing fine.”

“He likes your boy a lot, huh?”

“You don’t know the feeling that goes through me when I watch Lew with Jackie. Lew works magic with him. He can make him laugh with just the lift of a brow.”

“Tell me about your son, Maddie,” Joe said in a soft voice.

Her eyes flew up to him, hesitating. “Well, what’s there to say? He’s going to be tall, I can tell from watching him sprout like a weed. His eyes are brown. His hair is brown.”

“I could see all that when I looked at him. He looks a lot like John. John must enjoy that.”

“He does.” She smiled, relaxing a little. “He calls him Sailor, because he took him for a few hours once, and, when he put him down to get something off the stove, Jackie took off. When he found him he was in the bathroom throwing his small boats into the toilet. Of course Jackie doesn’t know that’s why he calls him Sailor.”

“I watched Felicia go through that stage too. Only it was towels instead of boats. When was he born?”

“A little over three years ago,” she said simply, uncomfortably.

“Did you call him Jonas? Is that why you and Bob call him Jackie?”

“No. I named him John. One look at him told us he had to be named John. Jackie was so we don’t confuse them. This way he’s named after each of them.”

“Each of them? Then his middle name is Thomas?”

“No.” She moved back to the heater where she checked on her clothing.

“Didn’t you give him a middle name?”

“He has a middle name.” She got her underclothing and started upstairs.

“Well, what is it?” he asked, but she pretended not to hear as she mounted the steps.

In the darkness she didn’t see the shoe that had been left in the middle of the floor, tripping her and throwing her against the dresser.

“
Jesus
,” she cried hoarsely as she picked herself up, the pain shooting through her thigh, bringing on the tears her nerves had been trying to wring from her.

“Are you all right?” Joe asked from the bottom of the stairs, but, when she couldn’t answer without letting him know she was crying, he came up with a lantern.

“Go away,” she said in a childish mope.

“Ah, Maddie, what’d ya do?” he asked softly as he moved closer, seeing she was holding onto her leg.

“Nothing. Just go away,” she whispered.

“That bridge really bit into you, didn’t it?” His fingers met the tender flesh of her thigh, but she jerked away.

“I’m all right. I’m just tired.” She rose and moved back toward the stairs. Glancing into the adjoining bedroom that her brothers had shared, she saw the small bed along the wall. “You can sleep in here tonight. I’ll sleep over there.”

“The bed’s bigger over here. Sure you don’t want to sleep in your parents’ old room?”

“I’m used to sleeping in a single bed. Until I got married that’s all I ever had.” She took a step toward the small bed, then curiosity got the best of her, and she went farther, into the bedroom she had occupied.

“Does it bring back memories?” he asked as he moved behind her with the lantern.

“Not actually. Not much anyway. Just little things like being sent up early on Christmas Eve with Tom. The bed was right there. I remember he didn’t like it that I wouldn’t go to sleep, because he had to make sure I was asleep before Santa Claus could come. He kept trying to scare me into going to sleep. He kept telling me Santa’s special elf Bruno was watching me.”

“Bruno?”

“Yes, Bruno,” she smiled. “You know Tom. It couldn’t be Trixie or Peter—it had to be Bruno. Then he’d throw my dolls across the room and tell me it was Bruno, which didn’t bother me, because I never really liked my dolls anyway. So, I started throwing them too. When I ran out of dolls he started throwing them back at me. By the time Mom and Dad yelled up at us and sent us both to bed, my dolls had arms and legs lying everywhere and the room was total chaos.”

“You were always such a delicate little creature,” he smiled, giving her a feeling of warmth as she laughed.

“Oh yes, that’s why Mom could always find me out playing football with you guys whenever I could escape. I remember one time John told me to go out for a long pass, and he threw the ball and hit me in the head. That hurt!”

“I remember. You came back and hit him where it would hurt more.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was aiming for his stomach. My little hands just couldn’t aim right yet. Anyway, he deserved it. He just stood there laughing at me! Well, he wasn’t laughing after that.” She glanced around again. “You probably have more memories of this room than I do. I was too small when we moved. Most of my memories are in the living room and outside. I guess I didn’t spend much time up here.”

“Just trying to maim Tom with dolls, huh?”

“That’s about it.” She turned and headed back for the bed near the wall, pulling back the blankets to check on their thickness. “I hope the blankets on your bed are thicker than these.”

“I’ll survive.” He looked at her oddly, then turned and went downstairs again, leaving the lantern on a dresser in the room she’d be staying in.

Maddie changed into her underclothing, not liking the idea of walking around in her cousin’s clothes and sure he wouldn’t like it either. She could hear Joe moving around downstairs, then the closing of the front door, prompting her to turn toward the head of the stairs.

“Joe?” When there was no response she rushed down the steps, glancing into different parts of the house and finding it empty. “
JOE
?”

“I never imagined such pieces of clothing could look so good on a woman,” Joe said as he closed the door behind him, the sound turning her to face him.

“Where were you?!” The distance of five feet separating them made little difference as his eyes moved over her. They were sending more chills through her than the cold, wet air that had blown in behind him.

“I took my clothes out to the clothesline. They were muddy from the water in the cellar. The rain will wash them out some.” He removed his raincoat and picked up the pack of Luckies on the table, not looking at her anymore. “It’s past ten. You’d better go up to bed. You’re probably tired.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Listen to the radio. I’ll bring the heater up in a minute. Go on, up to bed.”

She did as he ordered, more out of exhaustion than any inclination to actually obey him. As she stopped in front of the dresser mirror she noticed her hair needed brushing. The humidity had turned her dark locks into long curls. She looked around and came up with a brush, then bent slightly at the waist to untangle the hair that normally flowed past her shoulders by an extra three inches. She was almost done with the front, but, when she pulled the backs forward, she found a large knot, bringing an exasperated sigh as she tried to untangle it.

“I’ll do it.” Joe’s unrealized presence behind her immediately brought her into a rigid stance.

“No. You don’t have to.”

“I can reach it better without tangling it more.”

She stood motionless as she looked in the mirror at him, but his eyes were on her hair as his fingers gently moved through the strands.

“You’ve got twigs in it, probably from your swim back at the bridge.” He put the small weed-like pieces of wood on the dresser, then reached for the brush and began stroking the thick softness.

“I can get it now.”

“I’ll do it,” he said as if he were talking to a child, not paying any attention to the way her face was filling with tension, only intent on his job before him.

She watched him in the mirror. He had changed little in the past four years. Perhaps a line or two around the eyes, and certainly the scar at his eyebrow. But, other than that, he looked much the same. Maybe a little better. Leave it to Joe McNier to be the kind of man who looks better with age. Compared to Joe, Bob looked like an adolescent with acne, just out of high school. As her eyes lowered, she noticed Joe had removed his T-shirt, probably having gotten it wet when he went outside again, but when she glanced lower to see what else he had removed, she saw his jeans still hugging his hips. When her eyes came back up, she saw he was watching her, the sight sending her back six years to a stream where a young girl had to be convinced she
wasn’t
fat. The biggest difference in the picture was that, where her head reached only the top of his shoulders, it was now just above his chin.

“Do you still think you’re fat?” His voice was velvet.

She stiffened as she realized their thoughts had been on the same thing, then watched as he put the brush on the dresser and moved toward the stairs.

Sleep didn’t come easily to Maddie that night. She lay awake more than two hours before weariness drew her under sleep’s depths. The dream was colorful and real, showing her the bright brown eyes of her son’s laughing face.

“Mommy.”

“I’m here, Sailor.”

She pulled herself into those brown depths, drowning in them. But it didn’t matter, she knew they were safe now. As she pulled away from their shiny brightness, the face smiling back was no longer her son’s, but his father’s. Joe smiled with careless ease as he pulled her back to him. She was indeed safe.

“Now we can be together,” he said simply.

She watched him, his face so comforting, so welcoming. But suddenly the scar on his eyebrow turned red, a bright maroon that glowed as it flowed down the side of his face. She knew the cause of the blood as she turned her gaze to the ring on her finger. It too was bleeding. She looked back to him, but his smile was gone. His expression was covered by the steady flow of blood.

“Don’t hurt me anymore, Maddie.”

“I won’t.”

“You’ve got to stop hurting me.” He took a step away from her.
God,
don’t
go
that
way!
The
creek—the
water!