Beyond Midnight (65 page)

"
What happened in your bedroom, Nat?
"
she said, returning the gravity of his look.
"
Tell me what you saw.
"

He sucked in his breath, then seemed to forget about it as his eyes darted from right to left, focused on something she couldn
'
t see. He might have been reading a ticker tape. He let out his breath in a rush, then shook his head.

"
Not what I saw. What I smelled.
Enchantra,
Helen. The room was redolent with it. I must
'
ve been dozing; I know I was agitated
...
restless
...
but I think I dozed off. And the scent
—
the scent was overwhelming enough to wake me up.
"

He had become restless all over again. He needed to stand up; to pace.
"
Linda rarely went into that room; the bedroom we used is now Katie
'
s,
"
he explained.
"
I had the new room completely done over to suit me. Almost nothing in it is from
...
before.
"

Here, Helen could not help correcting him.
"
The commode alongside the bed
."

Wincing, he paused to say,
"
Yes. That
'
s from our old room.
"
His face turned suddenly querulous, as if he couldn
'
t remember how it had got there. He rubbed his temples wearily, then abruptly resumed his pacing.
"
But more than that
:
there was something more
...
something intense going on. I could feel it, Helen,
"
he said, more to himself than to her.

He was rubbing the back of his neck, stumbling through his spiritual encounter all over again while he paced and talked. Helen watched him closely, unable to look anywhere else. He was wearing beat-up khakis and an old blue shirt, the kind of thing he might
'
ve worn to clean leaves out of the gutters. With his stubble of beard, uncombed hair, and—Helen couldn
'
t deny it—a turbulent look in his eye, he might easily have passed for a street person.

"
I didn
'
t see her or anything, not in any clear way. But there was a sense of her, a
...
a presence. Ah, hell, I can
'
t describe it,
"
he said, and then proceeded at once to try again.

He turned to Helen and said,
"
It was
...
she was
... benign. I mean
,
it wasn
'
t like
Nightmare on
Elm Street
.
She was filled with sorrow
...
but she forgave me. That was somehow clear.
"

"
Forgave you?
"
Helen whispered.

He was standing above Helen now; suddenly he fell to his knees in front of her and slid his arms along the outside of her thighs, and dropped his forehead onto her lap.

"
I wronged her, Helen,
"
he said, dragging the words out in a moan.
"
I wronged her in a way I can never forgive myself for. I loved her
...
and then I turned on her
...
and you were right: Linda was perfectly innocent. Whatever happened, she didn
'
t mean to take a life, hers or anyone else
'
s. Whatever happened, that was
my
son who died with her. God in heaven!
"
he said in a choked voice.
"
How can I ever forgive myself?
"

His agony was shocking, unbearable; it tore Helen up in a whole new way. She laid her hands on the back of his head in a kind of benediction and said,
"
No, no
,
it wasn
'
t your fault
.  Not
in the way you think
.  You
were misled
.
...
"

He seemed not to hear; he was completely focused on pouring out his heart to her.

"
In my wildest dreams I wouldn
'
t have known I could experience this. Any of this,
"
he said in a voice twisted with pain.
"
And yet—God help me—I love you more, Helen. I love you still.
"

And then he sighed and said in a low bleak whisper,
"
Forgive me, Linda.
"

He looked up at Helen then, his gaunt, handsome face streaked with tears.
"
I
'
m sorry. I love you. I
'
m sorry.
"

There was so much Helen wanted to tell him, so much he needed to know. But the moment was sacred; she would not defile it.
"
I love you, Nat,
"
she whispered.
"
With all my heart. My soul.
"

They went upstairs after that, and made love. He came into her with more sorrow than passion, more stillness than joy. And Helen held him fast and would not let him go— or come—because in all the wild ferment of rumor and loss and squandered emotion, this, at least, was real. He was real, and she was, and their love for one another.

They lay without moving for a long time, he in her, she around him, until the obvious, the inevitable, happened:
t
heir need to be released overcame their desire to hold on. In utter silence, he brought her to a deep, rhythmic climax, and then he himself shuddered, and sighed, and lay still.

Relishing his weight on her the way she would a heavy, comforting blanket on a bone-chilling night, Helen touched her lips to his shoulder in a gossamer kiss.

"
I love you,
"
she whispered.

"
We
'
ll find him,
"
he said again.

Their limbs locked together, they passed what was left of the night in a kind of desperate sleep, gathering strength—because now they knew that the most dangerous dem
ons prowled around in the day.

****

The sun was bright; the air was clean and fresh. While Nat showered, Helen—energized and filled with the sense that they both had Linda
'
s blessing—sneaked down the hall into her daughter
'
s room.

"
Becky
,
honey
...
don
'
t be alarmed,
"
she said, shaking her gently by the shoulder.
"
But I just wanted to warn you
."

Becky moaned and buried her nose in her pillow.
"
Mmmmph
...
what about,
"
she said in a muffled voice.

"
Well
...
about Nat. He
'
s in the shower.
"

Rolling her head to one side, Becky opened one eye in a squint.
"
Whose shower?
"

"
Whose. Mine. Whose do you think?
"

"
Did he run out of water at his house?
"

"
No-o-o.
"

"
Are we taking in boarders?
"

"
No-o-o.
"

"
Mmmph.
"
She closed her eye again.
"
Okay
.
I
'
ll sleep in.
"

"
Thanks, sweetie,
"
said a blushing Helen, bending over to kiss her daughter
'
s cheek.
"
That
'
d be so much easier, for now.
"

Helen was halfway out the door when Becky called her back.
"
Mom?
"
she murmured with a sleepy smile.
"
Would you like me to put a spell on him?
"

"
That
'
s not very funny, missy,
"
Helen said, grimacing at her daughter
'
s black humor.
"
And besides,
"
she added with a relenting smile of her own,
"
you
'
d be a little late.
"

"
Mom?
"

"
Yeah, snot?
"

"
It
'
s nice to see you happy again. Even this much.
"

Helen said softly,
"
This much is pretty much,
"
and closed the bedroom door shut.

She went down to the kitchen and began rummaging for something to cook. The cupboards were bare: three slices of bacon, a few tired blueberries, the last of the Bisquick. She hadn
'
t shopped all week; but then, no one had eaten all week.

Aunt Mary had brought over some chicken soup, with apologies for messing it up and making it thin. And without salt. Or carrots. The soup, still in the fridge, was a constant reminder to Helen that she had to get her aunt in to a doctor, and fast.

If I have to drag her kicking and screaming,
Helen thought,
I will.
It all seemed suddenly so much more doable.

The bacon was sizzling and the pancakes, fashionably thin, were stacking up in the oven when Nat came up behind Helen and slid his arms around her waist.

"
Mornin
'
,
"
he whispered in her ear.
"
I love you.
"

Despite her
agony
—because
of her agony—Helen needed desperately to hear those words.
"
Tell me again,
"
she whispered without turning around. Her eyes stung with tears. In the middle of so much joy, she was feeling so much pain.

She turned to face him.
"
Please. Tell me again.
"

He cradled her face between his hands and murmured,
"
Let me start at the top, then. I love your black shimmering hair—it reminds me of the way night falls over a crystal clear lake in winter. I love your gray-green eyes, and the way your lashes stick together when you cry. When you cry you
'
re so heartbreakingly beautiful that I want to cry with you.

"
I love your nose,
"
he said, continuing his journey south.
"
It has character, and a certain regalness that makes me want to fall to one knee and beg you to make me your knight. And I definitely love your mouth. It wants to be kissed.
"

To prove it, he kissed her.

"
Your chin has strength; your neck—well, if a neck can show kindness, then that
'
s what yours does.
"

She laughed, despite herself, and he kissed her again to silence her.
"
Your shoulders have a set to them that tells me I want you always on
my
side. Which brings me to your
breasts,
"
he said with a devilish smile, cupping his hands under them and skimming over her nipples with his thumbs through the thin fabric of her shirt.
"
Ah, those breasts. I
'
m repeating myself here, but—
"

The rest of the compliment was overtaken by the shrill ring of the kitchen phone. It was early, six-forty-five; Helen broke from Nat
'
s embrace and tore the phone from its cradle on the wall.

"
Hello? Hello?
"
She waited in agony.
"
Who
'
s there? Who is it?
"