Cocoon (22 page)

Wilton's braggadocio cockiness slowly fizzled when reality crashed in upon his handsome, empty head.

Now, she blinked back the pain and acknowledged shamefully that, even then, she'd not sent him away.

He ran out on her.

“What are you thinking about?” Scott's voice cut into her angst.

She took a deep cleansing breath and blew it out. “Oh. Just some dark happenings I experienced in years gone by.” No use in being evasive. She refused to become a liar on top of being a pushover.

He cut her a glance. “Like what?”

“Things I'd rather not talk about.”

“Is that why you reacted to me like you did tonight?” The words were low. Even.

“Probably.” She shook her head. “I'm not sure.”

“Exactly where do we stand, Zoe?”

She studied him. His demeanor was calm. Strong. Confident. Unlike the Scott who had pursued her so relentlessly over a year ago. That Scott would have slain dragons for her.

Just like Wilton in the beginning.

Where did they stand?

For the life of her, she didn't know.

“I need an answer, Zoe. I think you owe me that much.”

And Zoe heard in his voice that he meant it. He probably wanted his freedom to pursue the new teacher.

“Scott, I'm grateful for all you've done for me.” She shrugged listlessly as he pulled into the duplex's driveway. “I have lots of things going on right now. My mother's situation being at the very top. She's no better and I'm afraid of what may be causing her problems.”

Scott turned in the seat, relaxed, watching her closely. “Are you still feeling suspicious of Barth, Zoe?” he asked. She could hear, feel the incredulity in his voice.

“Let's just say I don't entirely trust him to be who he says he is.”

“Zoe, I can't believe you're saying that.” He frowned at her, disbelieving. “I've never seen a more devoted husband than Barth is to Seana. You can't mean …”

“Scott, we've had this conversation before. Please, I repeat, please do not tell me what I mean. Or what I should think. Because you have not walked in my shoes. Consequently, you have no right to dictate to me how I should feel.”

With that she wrested the car door open and climbed out. “I've got to go.”

“Zoe!” Scott slid from his side and locked the car. “Wait. So you've already told me that I have no right to counsel you. And you've not answered my earlier question. An important one. Where, exactly do we stand?”

He took her arm, walked her to her door, and watched her unlock it. She turned to face him, feeling trapped. His eyes told her nothing. They were, in the night light, steady and head on.

“Do I have to answer this very moment?” she asked in a long-suffering tone.

Scott's gaze never wavered. “Yes. I need to know.”

She sighed heavily. “Scott, at this very moment, I don't know that there is a ‘we.' I don't know. I guess it's the trust thing. I've been burned too many times. Too deeply.” She shrugged. “You're a great friend. I can't even begin to thank you for …”

“Stop.” Scott gave her a grim little smile. “You've answered my question. G' night, Zoe.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Zoe watched his white
a la Travolta
form disappear around the corner and presently she heard the door to his duplex open and firmly shut.

She looked up into a star-studded sky and belatedly felt her heart drop to her feet. And she was shocked at the keen sense of loss that swamped her.

What have I done now? she wondered.

• • •

Seana liked Dr. Jones, her new psychiatrist. And for a few months, he seemed to help her. He was different from Dr. Walton; he wanted to hear every detail of her life. He was delighted with her progress.

That was great at first. But then, like a leaky tire, she began to feel her strength begin to ebb.

“I don't feel like I can stand long enough to take a shower,” she complained to Barth.

“Then I'll run you a bath, honey.”

He did but had to assist her when her arms grew too weak. She saw that his concern grew as he witnessed her defenselessness.

“She's nearly helpless,” Barth explained to Dr. Jones on the next visit. “I have to assist her in most things now.”

The good doctor exploded. “What? You mean you're actually bathing her?” He shook his head in disbelief then chewed Seana up one side and down the other.

“I cannot believe that you're so – so lazy. Your sense of entitlement is beyond anything I've seen recently. Get up and wait on yourself. You'll never get better until you take some responsibility for yourself.”

“And Barth,” he turned his disapproval on Barth, “you've got to stop this. Do
not
help her do another thing!”

Then he marched over to Seana and got in her face. “You are an adult, Seana. You do
not
need your husband's help. Do you understand me?”

Seana nodded but felt too weak to truly react. Even if she'd wanted to.

To react would have been to
feel
.

Which she did not.

Barth was silent all the way home. Looked angry almost. But he gently helped her from the car and into the house. Then he tucked her into her bed on the sofa, making sure the blanket swaddled and warmed her, easing her chills.

She heard Billie Jean come clomping in later that afternoon and sit with Barth in the kitchen. “Been playing with Brutus,” she told Barth, out of breath from the excursion. “That dog would chase a stick till Jesus returns if you let 'im. He'd never stop bringing it back for another toss. Look at 'im, standing there, panting and begging me to go back out. No way, Brutus!” She laughed and soon Barth's deeper chortles joined in.

Presently, Seana felt Brutus's tail brush her arm as he padded to his bed, on the floor next to the sofa. And a wet lick on her arm, drippy from his frantic lapping of water to quench his thirst. He still panted when he plopped down into the soft bed. There, he lay all during his daylight hours now. Not being intrusive. Simply lying there, near Seana.

But he knew every move Seana made. She knew because several times, during her dark days, she would feel his tongue soothing her hand or cheek or a foot protruding from beneath the cover. Or she'd feel his snout nudging her hand that held the TV remote.

She would see those soulful amber eyes watching her with concern.

But she had no affection to give. She remained empty. The nothingness was worse than ever before. It yawned like a bottomless chasm, pulling her down, down, toward a black pit, onto whose precipice she clung with white knuckled fingers.

Clinging … clawing. No one saw. But she felt it with every fiber of her being.

She was so tired. So very weary.

Tonight, Seana watched the clock hands reach eight o'clock.

“It's time for my meds, Barth.”

• • •

“Zoe's having an anniversary celebration at the dance studio. Remember your daughter?” Barth's joke fell flat. Seana, snuggly buried in her soft sofa, already shook her head in succinct refusal.

Barth tried again. “The entire family will be there. Even Billie Jean, Joanie, and Chelsea. Wouldn't you like to see your girlfriends, sweetheart?” Seana's irritation bled through as she angled her head to see around him to the TV screen where a Braves game blared. Not that she cared, he thought to himself.

She was just being aggravating.

As usual. He felt instantly guilty for thinking that. He sighed, slapped hands against knees, and arose from the ottoman he'd pulled up to the sofa. He moved it back to its regular spot and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He grabbed his navy-blue jacket and pulled it on over his white silk blend Villini pullover and bent down to kiss Seana's cheek. He noticed an exceedingly belligerent cast to her features. “You okay, honey?”

She didn't reply. But that wasn't unusual. Her connection to him was like a temperamental old car. Unpredictable. When he turned the switch, it sometimes sprang into action, others it whined and whirred. At others, like now, it idled.

“I've got my cell phone if you need me. Okay?” He gave her another kiss on her crown. Outside the late April air was balmy, and he could smell early blooming spring flowers. Budding red azalea bushes flanked the curving driveway in vibrant embrace.

All this warmed Barth and he felt thankful for his bounty … regardless of his home situation. He took a deep, steadying breath. He must not let it get him down.

He pushed past the heaviness that hovered. The weariness.

I must go on
.

Resolutely, he joined the family at Happy Feet Dance Studio for the twentieth anniversary of the business.

Peyton's smiling face was the first he spotted. Barth's heart lifted at the warm affection he felt as the young man he now considered his own rushed to embrace him.

Yes, indeed. He was blessed.

• • •

Zoe checked the soft drink supply again and mingled with friends, family, and clientele. “Hi, Chelsea,” she traded hugs with her friend. “Thanks for coming.”

Chelsea's kohled eyes shimmered and her onyx, bobbed hair glistened beneath the dramatic lighting. “Wouldn't've missed it for the world. This place has been my hangout for twenty years, doncha know?”

Zoe's eyes unexpectedly misted. “Yes, I do know. Thanks.”

She sniffed back tears and moved on.

Her steps paused as she spotted Scott Burns. He was engaged in a serious powwow with Stacia Dietrich in a secluded corner. She was looking at him mighty sweetly and at one point reached to touch his hand.

Zoe turned away and clashed into Joanie. “You okay, honey bun?” Joanie peered into her face like a concerned mama.

“I'm okay.” Zoe pasted on her got-the-world-on-a-string smile. “Thanks, Joanie.”

“For what?” Beneath piled high, sequin-anchored blonde curls, jade-green eyes widened curiously.

“For celebrating with me.” She shrugged, barely managing to rein in her agitating emotions. “Couldn't've done it without my friends.”

Joanie brushed hands over saucy hips to unnecessarily smooth her fitted green slacks. “That's what friends are for, Zoe.”

Zoe patted her shoulder and moved away. “I'm just beginning to really get that,” she muttered under her breath.

Barth and Peyton sat at a table together, laughing and talking, as comfortable and contented as two old hound dogs gnawing on ham bones. She almost smiled at the Norman Rockwell scene.

Almost.

Billie Jean grabbed her by the arm, startling her. “Hey girl! Why don't you make some kind of grandstand announcement here? All these folks turned out just for you.” Then the spiffed-up version of her cousin wrapped her warm hands around Zoe's and smiled gently. “Just let it go, Zoe,” she said, her eyes misting. An unusual thing for the tough as nails woman.

Zoe felt her nose burn and pressure sting behind her eyes. “What're you talking about?” she croaked.

“Aw, you know all right.” The words were soft. “I've known you since you were born, Zoe. You're the child I never was able to have. So listen up.” She gently squeezed Zoe's fingers.

“Your mama can't counsel you now. But –” She snuffled and squared her shoulders, “I don't know exactly what's going on in that head of yours, but just know that I love you and am praying that whatever's got your clothes in such a wad will soon be resolved.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes. “I'm not –”

“Nuh-uh. I
know
, Zoe. Can't fool ol' Billie Jean. You just know that I love you. Y'hear?” The astute hazel gaze brooked no arguments.

Zoe nodded and watched her feisty cousin's departure.

“Mama!” Peyton's cry set off an alarm in her as she pivoted in his direction.

Bart was rushing to the exit like his feet were on fire.

Peyton reached her, his eyes wild with – fear?

“What?” she cried, dreading the answer.

His hands clutched her shoulders. “Oh, Mama,” he moaned. “Nana's tried to kill herself again!”

• • •

“No arguments,” Scott all but shouted. “Get in my car, Zoe.” They stood outside the studio. Zoe had left Billie Jean in charge of shutting the place down.

She'd seen the pale, shocked faces upon the news of Seana's latest suicide bid.

After another moment's hesitation, she complied. “You, too, Peyton,” Scott called out the window.

Peyton jumped into the backseat. The drive to the hospital was tense. Awkward. But Zoe's main thoughts were with her mother. Dear, precious –
demented
Mama. Oh
God
, when would it all end?

A chill brushed over Zoe
. Not like this! Please. Not like this.

Tears appeared of their own accord. And Zoe didn't care.
Hang
being in control. Hang being cool and competent. She was desperately tired of it all. She savagely rummaged in her purse and found wadded Kleenexes.

“You okay?” Scott ventured softly.

“No. I'm not.” She blew her nose.

She felt Peyton's hand slide over her shoulder and squeeze. “She's gonna make it, Mom,” he said. She heard the doubt, the fear in his voice. She also heard the courage.

“She will,” Scott echoed. In his voice she heard – conviction.

“Thanks,” she whispered and snuffled back a fresh rush of tears.

At the hospital ER, Barth looked like death himself. His red eyes and soda cracker paleness pronounced his grief. Peyton engulfed him in his arms, weeping softly. “It'll be okay,” he murmured brokenly.

Barth snuffled and patted his shoulder. “Let's pray it will, son.”

Scott, too, embraced Barth, his muscular arms swallowing up Barth's lean frame. Zoe admitted to herself that it had grown even thinner in recent months. Scott's embrace ended in shoulder-clapping encouragement. “We're hanging in there with you, buddy,” Scott husked and unashamedly whisked out his handkerchief and wiped away tears.