Cocoon (24 page)

Before she knew it, Seana was on the floor, being propelled toward the bathroom where Eartha stuck her head under the faucet and unceremoniously shampooed her hair. She then beat the wet strands dry with hot air from a hair dryer and used searing curling irons to finish the transformation.

“Stay put,” she ordered and left the room.

Seana was afraid to move.

Presently, Eartha returned with makeup. Seana sat as still as a Greek statue while the humming woman applied masterful strokes to her features. When finished, she stepped back, crossed her arms, and examined Seana closely. She smiled and nodded approval.

“Mm-hmm.”

One more pat to Seana's hair and she pronounced, “Now you're ready for your sweet chirrun and husband to come see you.” She took Seana's arm and propelled her this time to a pleasant visiting room with lots of sunlight and vibrant greenery.

Within minutes, the entire Sunday-clad tribe piled in, Barth, Zoe, Peyton, and Billie Jean, followed by Tim, Sherry, and Ashley. Seana heard them say they'd just finished lunch at the Sunday Mater and Onion Buffet.

At the commotion, Seana felt herself draw inward like a startled turtle. At least she wished she could draw her extremities into a shell. She was already exhausted by the time everyone hugged and greeted her.

“Mama,” Zoe gushed. “You look beautiful.”

Barth gave her an exceptionally long embrace and while nuzzling her cheek whispered, “You look good enough to eat.”

Seana pulled away and sank stiffly down into a comfortable chair. Eartha had dressed her in loose navy slacks and a white pullover top. Barth and Billie Jean had refused to pack her beloved, bedraggled striped pullover to bring with her. She missed it.

“I want to lie down,” Seana said.

“Mama, don't you feel like sitting up for just a little while?” Zoe coaxed.

“No.” Oh how she wanted them to leave so she could lie down.

“It's okay, Nana,” Ashley said, reaching to squeeze Seana's hand once more.

“Yeh, Nana,” Peyton said, “it's okay. We're not going to stay long, so you can go lie down soon.”

“We just wanted to see you on Mother's Day,” Billie Jean said. “You're not my mama but you've always been there for me, just like my own mother.”

“You're not my mother, either,” Barth said, ignoring the stifled laughter throughout the room. “But I had to see my sweetheart. And just look at you. You look like a homecoming queen.”

“Hey! She
was
the homecoming queen of Paradise Springs High in her young days, doncha know?” crowed Billie Jean.

“And she's just as lovely now.” Barth pulled his chair next to Seana, leaned over, and gave her a big kiss as close to her lips as he could get. Seana scowled and promptly swiped it away. “That's okay,” he chuckled. “You can't get rid of my love that easily.”

Everybody got a big kick out of that and laughed appreciatively.

All except Zoe.

• • •

Zoe finished shining mirrors and polishing furniture at the studio. She still needed to dust mop the floors but she needed a break. A cold drink. How she missed Peyton's help with the cleaning.

She pulled a chilled bottle of water from the fridge and took a long, cooling swallow. How good it felt sliding down her parched throat and into her stomach, cooling her all the way down. She closed her eyes and took another pull of it and set it down atop the stereo cabinet.

Her fingers moved over the music selections, then halted. She slid in a disc and let the smooth, cool music of Barry Manilow fill her up until she was floating and began to dance barefoot over parquet floors awash with late afternoon sunlight.

Sparkling mirrors reflected long legs encased in jeans, gliding and swaying her lithe form in liquid motion as she drowned in the mellow notes and lyrical message of someone else's pain. She dipped and swirled as it somehow made her own hurt diminish for a few blessed moments.

This was why Zoe loved dance. At that precise moment, she wished she could choreograph herself away, into oblivion, into another musical realm where she could dive into it and never again come up for air.

Where she could disappear and never again have to come back and face what a mess she'd made of her life.

Manilow's “Even Now” pulled on her heartstrings. Groaned like the strings on a cello, heavy and melancholy. It spoke of lost love … one that did not go away. The heart still felt it. Still grieved.

The song ended and Zoe started to turn it off. But another started playing.

Her hand stilled as the words bombarded her. “Ready To Take A Chance Again” snared her like a booby-trap in those childhood Tarzan movies where the prey was caught by a looped rope and ended up hanging upside down from a sky high tree.

Dangling helplessly.

Only thing, she'd never really taken a chance with Scott, not for the first time. So adding “again” was ludicrous.

Scott.

Just his name rearranged everything in her senses. Jolted and shook them up.

She danced, soaking up the words …
you remind me I live in a shell … safe from the past, and doing okay but not very well
 ….

Oh yeh. That was her, living in a shell, safe from the past.

Doing okay – but not very well.

She slid to a halt, face in hands. What a coward she was.

“Are you okay?”

His words spun her around. Scott approached from the entrance area, his long strides briskly eating up the parquet. “Zoe” – his voice vibrated with concern – “is something wrong?”

She took a deep breath and shook her head. “N-no. Just tired.” Her attempt to smile fell flat.

He now had her by the shoulders, those steel-gray eyes assessing her. “You sure nothing's wrong?”

If she didn't know better, she'd think he was worried about her. But she knew better. “I'm sure.” She frowned. “How did you get in?”

Scott loosed her and stepped back. “I've got a key. Remember? I helped Peyton on several occasions when you were down with your hip injury.”

“Oh. Yeh. But …” She didn't mean to sound shrewish, but for the life of her she couldn't seem to soften her attitude. “What are you doing here?”

Scott's smile didn't reach his eyes. “I left my cell phone here last night after the clog rehearsal.” He moved to a corner table. “Here it is. Right where I left it.”

He tucked it into his little belt holder. “How're we doing?”

Zoe was having trouble breathing with him so close. “W-what?”

“The clog number for the festival. How're we doing?”

“Oh.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Great. Just – great.”

“You sure?” He looked closely at her.

“Of course,” she said more sharply than she intended. So she smiled to soften it. “You and Stacia are doing fabulous.” How she hated to admit it. But it was the truth. Act like an adult, she silently told herself.

Scott chuckled. “She's excited because she'd never really done the clogging thing before. Totally out of her league, she said. But she really caught on, didn't she?”

“Yup. She did.” Zoe's mouth was hurting from smiling.

He watched her for long moments, as if expecting her to say more. When she didn't, he turned to leave and she noticed how much thinner he looked.

“Have you lost weight?” she asked.

He turned back and gave her a little crooked smile. “A little.”

She thought, more than a little. But he still looked terrific.

“How's your mother?”

The words were so soft, so sweet that she teared up suddenly. She tried to gulp back the emotions that swam to the surface, along with the unexpected tears that stubbornly pushed their way out to puddle along her lids then spill over.

How she missed her mother being there.

“S-she's about the same,” she croaked. Then held up a hand as Scott reached out for her. “I'm okay,” she whispered and proceeded to cry like a baby as he slid his strong arms around her.

Manilow's music still played on the darned automatic Discmaster. Romantic, sad songs. “Can't Smile Without You” finished and the revolving selections just had to land on a replay of “Ready to Take a Chance Again.”

Scott's big hand swallowed hers as one arm slipped around her waist, and they began to dance together as her weeping subsided and she lay her head on his shoulder. He smelled wonderfully masculine, a mixture of Lifebuoy soap, spicy cologne, and just a hint of outdoors.

“I'm sorry I upset you,” he murmured into her hair, raising goose bumps all over her, the delicious kind. “Seems with you I can't get anything right.”

Zoe looked up at him. “You didn't upset me. I was already wired tight as a hamstring.” She shrugged and gave him a tight smile. “It's not you, Scott. I'm the one who doesn't get anything right.”

In that moment, with his clear, gray eyes gazing into hers, she wondered if he sensed the turbulence in the atmosphere surrounding them. And if he felt her confusion, her failure to categorize this thing between them. Because it was something powerful to her.

When around, he sucked up the air so that she could hardly breathe.

“Tell me what I did,” he said softly, taking her hand and leading her to sit at one of the small, intimately placed tables. He took the seat opposite her and gazed at her. The soft, slow Manilow love song, this time “Looks Like We Made It,” drifted from the stereo speakers.

Zoe blinked and took a deep breath. “Why haven't you kissed me again?”

Instantly horrified, she felt her face begin to heat with embarrassment.

Scott's eyes rounded and then he, too, dragged in a deep, long breath and blew it out. “Because …” He raised his hands, those wonderful, beautiful hands, and spread them wide. “Because I didn't think you would welcome that again. Remember you told me – in front of everyone here that night – that you didn't appreciate my gesture.” He shrugged and gave her a rueful lopsided half-smile. “I don't push myself on anyone, Zoe.”

Then he leaned forward and planted elbows on the table. “I screwed up, Zoe. Big time. I'm sorry for that. Every time I think about that stupid, dramatic gesture, I cringe, especially when I recall your look of disdain afterward. I've had to step back and reassess my feelings for you. I don't want a replay of that night.”

Zoe's heart plunged to her toes. “Are you saying – ?”

“I'm saying I need to step back and take time to process the pain and shame of the …” His gaze dropped to study his hands, now clasped before him. “Of the breakup, so to speak.” He shrugged again and looked at her. “Only thing, what did we have, Zoe?”

Zoe sat frozen, a sense of déjà vu gripping her. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't utter a sound. Because for the life of her, she did not know what they had, or for that matter, if they had anything beyond friendship.

She knew what her heart was saying, but her heart had tricked her before. Done mutiny on her. Did she dare utter her love for him? That in itself caused a quick intake of breath. She was in love with him. How could she have let down her guard?

Scott stood in that moment. “That's what I thought,” he muttered and turned on his heel.

Zoe rose to her feet and took two steps. “Scott?” she called.

He halted and slowly turned, his face unreadable.

Again, she opened her mouth to declare her love. But the words jelled in her throat, undelivered.

“Yes?” he prompted, a slight edge to his voice. His long muscular, thinned-down form tightened with what seemed to be impatience.

“Are you and Stacia an item?” She heard the words slip out as though discharged used oil.

Scott actually smiled. “What do you think?”

On that, he pivoted and strode through the exit.

• • •

Joanie and Chelsea tiptoed into Seana's room.

“Is she asleep?” Joanie whispered, peering at the stillness of the lumpy form beneath the blanket. The television was off because Mrs. Hyde, the roommate, had hidden her remote from Seana.

It wasn't an ethics thing with Seana. She simply didn't care enough to venture from her bed to search for it. At times she did, when she knew Mrs. Hyde would be gone for hours. But mostly, she simply lay there, staring out the window, letting the nothingness carry her nowhere.

Today, Joanie leaned down, in her face, so to speak. “Hi there, Seana,” she said gently and leaned to kiss her cheek. Chelsea loomed behind her, dark hair and colorful makeup zooming in like the blast of a dark freight train.

“Hi, sweetie,” Chelsea crooned. “I brought you a present.” She pulled from a Sassy Rags shopping bag a turquoise, soft velour two-piece lounging outfit. “Here.” She and Joanie resolutely pulled her up and onto her feet to change her into it.

“When's the last time you took a bath?” Joanie asked, wrinkling her cute nose.

“This morning,” Seana blatantly lied with nary a twinge of conscience.

Chelsea and Joanie looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

“Here, let's put some of your perfumed talc on you.” Joanie knew where it was because she'd brought it during another visit, weeks before. “And some deodorant. Raise your arms.” She sprayed profusely underneath each arm. Then with a fuzzy, plush puff, liberally dusted under each with Estee Lauder bath powder.

Chelsea sniffed appreciatively. “That's better.”

Together, the two tucked Seana into the outfit. Then Joanie combed her hair, which resembled damp hay. “When did you last wash your hair?” she asked.

“Yesterday.”

“Yeh.” She sniffed. “Right.”

Joanie worked a little magic on her head, though it did not impress Seana. She wished them away.

They forced Seana to go to the darned visiting area. There, settled between them in a comfortable chair, Seana only spoke when spoken to, and then reluctantly. She couldn't wait till they stopped gabbing and returned her to her room, where she immediately crawled back into bed. She endured their good-bye hugs and endless words as they departed, all smiles and cheer.