Reflection (38 page)

She pulled away and sat down on the bed. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “You need to know that Katy was pregnant when she left.”

“Katy was
what
?”

“Lily Jackson told me. She heard it from one of her customers. Katy was about two months pregnant when she left, but she didn't want you to know because she didn't want it to affect whatever decisions the two of you made about your marriage.”

His face was white. “I think Lily heard some misinformation.”

“She sounded very sure. She said she heard it from a woman who worked in Katy's obstetrician's office. Katy was upset and crying, she said.”

He shook his head, sitting down next to her, a dazed expression on his face.

“So you see why I have to leave?” she asked. “You need to focus on Katy right now, not on me. Not on us.”

His face was ghostly. “Rachel,” he said, “after we had Jason, Katy had an ectopic pregnancy and then a couple of miscarriages, and her doctor finally said she shouldn't attempt to have any more children.”

Rachel tried unsuccessfully to follow him. “I don't—”

“Let me finish.” He stopped her with his hand on hers. “So I had a vasectomy. That was in 1985.”

She looked down at his hand where it rested stiffly on her own and let reality sink in. “Could it have reversed itself?” she offered.

“After nearly ten years? I doubt it. And even if it did—” He shook his head. “The truth is, Katy and I haven't made love in months.” He stood up and walked over to the window. “I have to think this through,” he said. “Think clearly. This is secondhand stuff. Maybe Lily got her facts wrong. Or maybe her customer got Katy mixed up with someone else.” He wasn't mentioning a more obvious explanation. Rachel didn't dare.

“That could happen, I suppose,” she said.

“I'm going to call Lily,” he said. “May I use your phone?” He reached for the phone on the night table just as it began ringing.

Rachel picked up the receiver. It was a travel agent, calling for Michael.

“I gave her the number here. Sorry.” He took the phone from her hand. “Doris?” he said into the receiver. “Thanks for getting back to me. Do you know where Drew is staying in California?”

Whatever the travel agent said drained any remaining color from Michael's face. “I didn't know that, no,” he said. “I must have heard him wrong.” He brushed a hand across his forehead, his fingers shaking., “And do you have a hotel for him there?” He hesitated a moment, turning to look at Rachel. “All right, thank you.” He hung up the phone, then rested his hand on her shoulder, but he couldn't seem to speak. His eyes were riveted on the floor.

“Michael?” Her heart began to race. “What's wrong?”

After a long pause, he raised his eyes to hers. “She asked me where I ever got the idea that Drew was in California,” he said. “She told me he's in Moscow.”

“In Moscow?” It took her a moment to understand. “Oh, Michael. Surely you don't think—”

“And he's not in a hotel,” he added flatly. “He's staying with a friend.”

RACHEL ROSE SLOWLY FROM
the chair in Gram's library. Turning off the light, she looked out into the yard toward the road, but she couldn't see Michael. He'd wanted to be alone, and she knew he was out there somewhere, walking and thinking.

So it was Drew's baby Katy was carrying. Obviously, Katy and Drew had calculated, plotted, and schemed behind Michael's back, and Rachel was angry with both of them. She was glad Michael had wanted some time to himself. The hurt and confusion in his face were hard for her to bear.

There was a movement in the darkness, and she leaned closer to the window. It was just the leaves of the bamboo, blowing in a breeze.

She walked into the kitchen, glad Gram had gone to bed early. She didn't want to have to explain to her what had happened. She made herself a cup of tea, then sat down at the table in the darkness.

After a few minutes she heard Michael's step on the front porch, then the door creak open.

“I'm in here,” she called softy.

He stepped into the dim light of the kitchen. She could barely see his face.

“Can I get you some tea?”

“No.” He sat down across the table from her and let out a sigh. “I don't like the way I feel,” he said.

“I can only imagine,” she said. “I've never really been betrayed. There's been plenty of pain in my life, but not in that form. It must feel horrible.”

Michael was quiet, staring at the dim image of his hands on the table. “He betrayed me to Ursula, too. I'm sure of it. He's been telling her things. How else would she have known about the trip to D.C.? He hasn't been on the side of the land fight at all. He's been a mole, using me every way he could. How can he live with himself?”

They sat in the stillness of the kitchen, talking, for more than an hour.

“So many clues I missed,” Michael said. He sorted through them all, and she listened as he put together the picture of deception.

“I don't know how I'm going to handle this, Rachel,” he said finally, “but I've decided I don't need to figure it out right now.” He looked at her across the table. “Can I stay here tonight?”

What exactly did he mean? “What about Jace?” she asked.

“He's spending the night at Patrick's. He has a bona fide friend, it seems.”

“That's good.” She smiled uncertainly. Did he want to stay in the guest room, or…?

He read her mind. “What I want, if you're okay with it, is to climb into your bed and hold you all night long.”

She nodded, trying not to think about his neighbors, peering out their windows, watching for him to return home. “That's what I want, too,” she said.

She found a new toothbrush in the cupboard beneath the bathroom sink and set out fresh towels for him. He came into the bathroom, moving like a man who had been stabbed in the heart by someone he trusted, and she knew they would not make love that night. Lovemaking was not what he needed.

She put on a cotton nightshirt and got into bed. When he came into the bedroom, he had stripped down to his boxers, and she tried not to stare at the body, at once familiar yet different. He was broader, slightly heavier than he'd been years ago. She remembered well the symmetrical pattern of hair on his chest. She remembered how, when they'd swim in the river at Katari, that hair would lie in a dark, tempting streak, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trunks. The desire she felt looking at him now, however, was far more than a memory.

Not what he needs
, she reminded herself. Tonight she would simply shield him, comfort him. She reached her arms up toward him, and he smiled as he got into the bed next to her.

He turned off the lamp on the night table and pulled her close. Her head was on his shoulder; she could feel the smoothness of his skin against her cheek. They lay in a comfortable silence for many minutes before either of them spoke.

“I'm sorry, Michael,” she said finally.

“I feel responsible for letting him into the fight against the Hostetter project. People warned me against him, but I was so convinced he was…honorable. I'm worried now that he's hurt us badly.”

“You're a trusting person. I love that in you.”

“It's going to be very difficult to forgive him.”

How could he possibly? “And what about Katy?” she asked. He had barely mentioned her role in all of this.

“Katy I can forgive with relative ease,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“How can I be angry with her? She's only doing what I wish I were doing. What I've been doing in my head since the day you arrived.”

“But you
didn't
do it.”

“Right. She has more guts than I do. I can't blame Katy for figuring out that our marriage was an empty shell long before I did.”

“Whew,” she said. “I'm not sure I could be so understanding.”

He stroked her hair, rested his palm against her cheek. “Thank God you're still here,” he said. “I need you.”

“You were upset with me last night, though. After Jace got beat up. I figured things had finally gotten to the point where I was more trouble than I was worth. And I would have understood that completely.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just then I was feeling very protective of my son. But I need your friendship. He'll have to accept that.”

She ran her hand lightly down the length of his back, then pulled herself closer to him. “It's funny,” she said. “This is so comfortable. I feel as though we've been together like this a million times before.”

“I know.”

Sleep was creeping into his voice, and she held him as he drifted off, knowing she would sleep very little herself. She didn't want to. She wanted to feel him next to her all night long.

She must have dozed off toward morning, because she felt herself rising from sleep as Michael stroked her face with his fingers. For a long time she didn't open her eyes, didn't move. She didn't want to interrupt the delicious touch of his fingertips on her cheeks and chin, forehead and eyelids. When she finally did open her eyes, he was smiling at her, his face barely visible in the flimsy dawn light filtering through the curtains. She smiled back, and he leaned down to kiss her, the kiss gentle but insistent and deep. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her body rose toward his, searching for more.

“Rache,” he whispered, his voice husky. He sat back on his heels, motioning to her to sit up, and when she did, he drew off her shirt, then gently pressed her shoulders toward the bed again. But he didn't kiss her. Instead, he sat next to her, the sheet drawn down to her hips, and stroked the tips of his fingers over her body. If it had been any other man, she would have pulled the sheet up, squirming with discomfort under his scrutiny. But she had no doubt that what she saw in Michael's eyes was love, and she closed her own eyes and let him touch her, let him make love to her in that slow, tantalizing fashion.

His hands grazed the sides of her breasts until she wanted more. He traced languid circles around her nipples with his tongue, his breath warm against her skin. She pulled him to her, but he extracted himself from her embrace to stand up and take off his shorts. When she reached for him again, it was with real hunger.

So long
, she thought, sinking her fingers into his hair. So long since anyone had made love to her. He knelt between her legs and stretched over her, the touch of his skin against hers a temptation. Slowly, he kissed her lips, her throat, her belly. She gripped the pillow behind her head and raised her hips to him. She felt the soft touch of his mouth and tongue on the inside of her thighs, and she moaned as he turned his head to ease her craving.

The world behind her eyelids glowed fiery red, and she arched her back, clutching the edges of the pillow until suddenly he was inside her—or very nearly so, his movements teasing and shallow until she lifted herself up against him, begging for more. She thought he laughed as he rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and she pressed her greedy hips down on him, over and over and over again until her body bucked with the force of her orgasm. He didn't let her stop though. He held her tightly against him, moving with her until he came himself, with a cry and a shudder. Only then did she think of her grandmother sleeping on the other side of the wall. Could she hear them? Probably not. If Gram had heard, she would have applauded.

She leaned down to kiss him. They were both breathing hard, a thin wash of perspiration between their bodies, and although she tried to hold them back, her tears came. She let her body sink onto his as she wept against his shoulder.

“It's all right,” he said, turning his head to kiss her eyes.

It was another minute before she rolled onto her side, and they lay still together, arms entwined, his lips soft against her forehead.

When he spoke again, his voice was light. “What is that suitcase doing by the door?” he asked.

She opened her eyes to see the packed suitcase waiting by the bedroom door. “I don't remember.” It seemed like weeks since she had packed it.

He suddenly drew in a breath and tightened his grip on her. “I can't lose you again, Rachel,” he said. “I won't.”

She tried not to think of the impossibilities laid out in front of them. “I'm afraid I come with a very high price tag,” she said.

“I'll pay for quality.”

She stroked her hand across his chest with a sigh. “I just wish…” She didn't know where to begin. She wished that he were not a Mennonite minister, that he were not married, that Jason knew her and adored her, that the town forgave her. “I wish—”

“I know,” he said, and she knew that he understood completely.

THAT MORNING THEY TOOK
a leisurely walk through the woods surrounding the house. Rachel felt safe being with him within the confines of her grandmother's ten acres. They found the tree house Gram and Hans had built. It was little more than a platform now, but they leaned a ladder against it and sat beneath the canopy of leaves while Rachel told Michael the story of her grandmother's lost love.

When they returned from the walk, they loaded their bicycles onto Rachel's car and drove to Gettysburg, where they biked incognito along the roads surrounding the battlefields, stopping occasionally to munch on fruit and talk.

They agreed to put off any decisions, to live one day at a time for as long as they could. That was fine. Rachel feared that any decisions they might come to would put an end to their being together at all. Neither of them wanted to talk about the future or to acknowledge the fact that, more than ever, they feared being seen together in public. Although everything had changed between them, nothing had changed in the eyes of Reflection.