Phoenix Heart (23 page)

The corner of his mouth lifted again. “Deal,” he said and
closed the door.

I went outside, retrieved my clothes from where they were
draped over the patio table, then heard a thump from the bathroom.

“Andrew?”

I ran in and started to open the door when the knob turned
under my hand.

Andrew pulled it open. “I just dropped the seat,” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Do you… need help?”

He shook his head, took a step, swayed, and then said, “Maybe
just a little.”

I helped him back to the mattress and to ease back down, but
he did most of the work himself.

“Maybe this was just a flesh wound,” I said.

Andrew grinned. “Told you.”

I laughed.

He looked at me for a long moment. All hint of humor faded
from his face and he took my hand in his. “Thank you, Melanie.”

I shrugged and, of course, blushed. (I’d give a lot to
discover the cure for blushing.) “You’re welcome. It was no big deal.” Even as
I said that, I knew it was a stupid thing to say, but I didn’t know how to
handle gratitude; never had been able to.

“You keep saying that. Excuse me, but what
wasn’t
a
big deal about this?”

“It’s not like I knew what I was doing,” I said. “I just
sort of made it up as I went along.”

“You helped me on the plane, in the airport. You get us out
of the hotel, find an apartment late on a Friday night, move in a practically
comatose man, and then nurse, feed, and watch this man for two days and nights and
it’s no big deal?”

“Well, you don’t have to get mad about it,” I said. I smiled,
but I couldn’t meet his eyes.

“No big deal,” he repeated as if he hadn’t heard me speak. “No
big deal, she says.” He shook his head and looked at me as if he were
considering the fact that he wouldn’t have to go to the expense of a commitment
hearing; the judge, jury, and the court appointed psychiatrist would fight each
other for the chance to sign the papers first.

“Sorry.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and raked back his hair again. “Now
she’s apologizing.”

“Look,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

Andrew looked at me, his face serious. “I want you to admit
how amazing you are.”

I rolled my eyes and began to laugh. “Oh, good grief.”

He wouldn’t laugh with me. “Come on. Admit it.”

I pushed off the mattress. “I don’t have to stay here and
take this.”

He grabbed my hand, pulled me back. “Yes you do.”

I stopped. “Please don’t do this,” I said softly.

He wouldn’t let me go. “Melanie,” he said. “I want you to
believe me.”

“Please don’t do this,” I whispered again, trying to twist
my wrist from his grasp as tears burned my eyes.

Andrew held on tighter. “Why?” he demanded.

I stopped, startled by his tone. “What?”

His hold loosened, but his hand wouldn’t let me go, and
neither would his eyes. “Why won’t you admit how special you are?”

“Because I’m not,” I cried suddenly, and I turned away,
biting down on my lip in horror before anymore of the words pressing to spill
out could do so. The cries wanting to be heard and understood:
Because if I was special my parents wouldn’t have left!
If I was special, I wouldn’t be alone! If I was special, you wouldn’t love
Caren, you would love…
I shook my head, desperately pushing that thought
away, afraid suddenly that he’d be able to read it in my eyes, see it in my
face.

“Melanie.”

“Look, Andrew,” I said. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I haven’t
slept much. Please, can we just… not… talk about this?”

He didn’t say anything, but his hand moved up my arm and his
thumb began to stroke the underside of my wrist.

“Please,” I whispered. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I
felt my hair slip down around my shoulders again.

His fingers tightened and he gently pulled my arm. I
resisted. “Please,” I whispered again, but then I let him pull me to him. I lay
down next to him and he brought his arm around me. I lay stiffly, afraid to
touch him, but as his hand stroked my arm, and brushed back my hair, I began to
relax against his side, and finally lay full length against him, my head
resting on his shoulder. He pulled the crumpled sheet out from between us and
drew it up over me then went back to stroking me gently. With no sheet between
us, I could feel the tickle of the hair on his legs against my bare legs, the
heat where our skin touched, the angle of his hipbone against my stomach, the
smooth skin of his chest beneath my cheek.

“I was so scared, Andrew.” The words came out suddenly,
surprising me. I hadn’t known I was going to say anything, but once started,
the words came of their own volition. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

The tears trickled across the bridge of my nose and dropped
onto his chest. His arm tightened around me, and though he still said nothing,
his hand never stopped caressing my arm and hair. The motion was so soothing,
and the words kept coming.

“Friday night was bad, but then on Saturday, your fever got
so high, and I couldn’t do anything but give you the antibiotics and aspirin
for the fever, and then--you were burning up, and… and… I went out to the
kitchen, and I came back with some juice and you were lying there, and for a
minute, in the moonlight, it didn’t look like… you… were… were… b…breathing. Oh
god!” I pressed my face against his chest and clung to him as the tears came in
earnest. “I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead.”

The sobs shook me and Andrew held me tightly, stroking my
hair, pulling the sheet up around me, cradling me against him as I shivered and
held on to him. He began to croon to me softly, telling me it was all right,
that it was all over, that I could rest now. He repeated the words in a
rhythmic chant, a spell against the pain and fear as he rocked and caressed me.

After a few minutes, the tears began to slow and the sobs
quieted to a few sniffles and an occasional shuddering heave. I sniffed, rubbed
at my wet cheeks and then tried to push away from him.

His arm tightened. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please.”

I pushed up enough so that our eyes met. He smiled
crookedly. “Please,” he said.

“I have to,” I said as I sniffed gently and batted my eyes. “It’s
either that or blow my nose on the sheet.”

Andrew snorted and his arm dropped from around me. “Reason
enough.”

I flipped back the sheet, and pivoted around so that I could
reach a roll of toilet paper that sat on the floor next to the mattress. I held
it so he could see it. “Ah, yes. First class trip all the way,” I said and blew
my nose.

He reached over and began to massage the base of my neck. “I’m
sorry you’ve missed out on your trip.”

I closed my eyes and rolled my shoulders under his hand. He
kept massaging and then his hand cupped my neck and he pulled me back toward
him. I eased across the mattress and he lifted the sheet, his arm went behind
me and I nestled against him and my head went back on his shoulder.

He rubbed his cheek against my hair. “Thank you, Melanie.”

“Hmmm?”

He cleared his throat. “Thank you for my life. My freedom.”

I smiled against his chest, loving the warmth of his skin
against my lips. “You’re welcome, Andrew.”

His lips brushed against my hair. “You hair is like silk.” He
drew it back and kissed me just above my left eye.

“Thank you.”

He kissed my cheek just below my other eye. “Your skin is so
soft.”

“Thank you.”

“And your mouth…” He tilted my chin up and kissed my lips
lightly. “Your mouth…”

Thank you
, my lips said as I looked up and saw my
reflection in his eyes.

And I was kissing him. I clung to him, trying to press
myself closer, closer, and even with one arm he was holding me so tightly I
couldn’t breathe but I couldn’t breathe anyway because his mouth was on mine
and I felt that fire again flaring, roaring, burning until I didn’t think I
could survive, but it was all right to die, because to die like this would be
so completely and utterly right.

Andrew moved his mouth from mine and kissed my eyes, my
throat, my ear. I kissed the hollow of his throat and ran my hand down his
chest, marveling at the feel of his skin beneath my fingers. Underneath I could
feel the strong, rapid beating of his heart.

His hand came up under my t-shirt in the back, running up my
spine, pushing the material up until he was rubbing the muscles at the base of
my neck. He pressed me to him, pulling the thin material of my t-shirt up
further. I ran my hands over his bare skin, up his arms, across his shoulders,
down the sides of his chest, touching him, exploring, wanting to know every
inch of him. The only thing he wore was his boxer-briefs and the bandage
wrapped around his lower chest. And it was this, as I ran my hands down his sides
that my fingers brushed against just as Andrew was pulling my face around to
kiss me again.

“No,” I said against his lips.

“What?”

I put my hands against his shoulders and pushed back from
him. His arms dropped to his sides. “No,” I said again.

“Why? Tell me why,” he said.

I sat back on my heels and pulled my t-shirt down. “This is
wrong.”

Andrew reached over and took my hand. He smiled. “No it’s
not.”

I left my hand limp and lifeless in his. “Yes. Yes it is.”

“Tell me why.”

Because you’re going to leave
me. You’re going back to Caren, and when you do, it’s going to be harder than I
think I can bear. But if this happens, if we make love, when you go I’ll break
into so many pieces I’ll never be able to put them back together.

“Because,” I said. “The last couple of days, this situation.
You’re feeling grateful; I’ve been taking care of you. And now it’s like we’re
in the eye of the storm. We’re hiding away here, away from the world, away from
your life, your friends, and we can’t hide, and we can’t make something here. We’ve
only known each other a few hours, really, and you practically have a fiancée,
so we just shouldn’t, that’s all.”

Andrew looked at my hand resting in his and gently pulled
his out from under it.

“Not practically,” he said.

“What?”

“She is my fiancée.” Andrew sat back and rearranged the
sheet and blanket over him. He wouldn’t look at me. “I shouldn’t have kissed
you. I’m sorry.”

At some point, during my Physics days, I had read about tiny
black holes in the universe that moved through the cosmos occasionally colliding
with stars or planets. Collision brought mass destruction as the worlds
imploded, collapsing inward at an ever faster rate as the enormous gravity of
the black hole pulled relentlessly. I knew the truth of it now, because one had
lodged just under my breastbone and it was pulling me rapidly, unrelentingly
down. But even as I dropped, I fought back automatically, struggling against
the destruction in the only way I knew how.

“Andrew,” I said, my voice calm.

“Yes?” he said.

“Do you remember what I told you in the hotel room about apologizing?”

“Oh.” The merest shadow of a grateful smile pulled at his
lips.

“And you said it would never happen again.”

He nodded somberly. “Yes, I did.”

I crossed my arms beneath my breasts, pressing hard against
my thumping heart. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

He hung his head. “I’m truly sorry.”

“All right, then.”

There was an awkward silence. Andrew shifted up in the bed,
rearranging the sheet and pulling the blanket up to his waist.

“So,” I said, a little too loudly. “Do you feel up to some lunch?”

“Great. Yes, I’m starving.”

I grinned, but I could feel my lips began to quiver, so I turned
toward the door. “Coming up,” I said and headed for the kitchen.

I dropped all but one of the bundles I carried by the front
door, and walked quickly down the hall to the bedroom.

“Got it!” I waved the small brown package triumphantly in
the air as I pulled off the black and silver cap.

Andrew sat on the mattress, staring at the door as I walked
in, one shoe balanced in his hand, the other already on. He was dressed in his
jeans and my blue sweater. The blankets were tossed into a heap beside him. For
a moment he looked relieved, but when he spoke, his voice was tight with anger.
“Where the hell have you been?”

I dropped the package on the end of the mattress and started
pulling off my coat. “Hey, you’re dressed. You must be feeling better.”

“Never mind about how I’m feeling.” He tossed his shoe away
and it thumped against the wall at the head of the bed and dropped to the
wooden floor with a loud clatter. His eyes narrowed. “It shouldn’t have taken
you more than an hour, and hour and a half, tops. You’ve been gone three hours
and fifteen minutes.”

I hung my coat on the hook in the closet and slipped the
sunglasses off. “You know I had to get you some sneakers and a shirt,” I said
mildly.

“Three hours and fifteen minutes to buy sneakers and one
shirt?”

I walked over to Andrew and stood looking down at him. He
had to bend his head back to meet my eyes. “And go to pick up your package
while making sure all the while that I wasn’t being followed,” I said. “And by
the way, your Uncle “Marley” wasn’t in when I got there. And I couldn’t exactly
tell his secretary to track him down because that well-known fugitive, Andy Richards
had sent me, now could I?”

“I guess not,” he said.

“I sat on that couch for an hour, trying to watch all the
doors at once, sure that either the police or Beer Belly and Short Blond would come
bursting in at any second.” I laughed, but Andrew didn’t smile.

He reached over beside the bed and picked up the newspapers
that I’d left on the kitchen counter. He tossed them at my feet and I looked
down at the photo of one Melanie Brenner, girl fugitive. “Why didn’t you tell
me about this?”