Color of Love (5 page)

Except that in the recurring dream it was never a stairwell but a long, muted tunnel with a maze of adjacent passageways. She would always try to stay on the path straight ahead, because she didn’t want to think about what hid in the other corridors. She could never really see very clearly anyway in the low lighting, but she always knew that she was not alone. When the laughter finally came, as it always did so suddenly and so close, she knew there was no escape.

There would be an overpowering need to groan, to make a sound of fear. He’d touch her. His hands were big and rough. In one hand was the knife. He’d clutch her, drawing her into the horrible smells and heat of his body. He had her. He was going to—

Leah jumped in her skin.

She hadn’t been able to get the scream out of her mouth. It struggled in her throat as if some silent force were keeping it there. She could still feel the pain of the fear that had been part of the nightmare. Like a fist pounding in her chest. For the better part of the past two years Leah had been dreaming about a stocky black man who’d attacked her one summer night.

Leah had never told Allen about it. And she’d never told her father or Gail. She’d never been sure why. She simply lived with the dream the same way people lived with a chronic condition. She accepted it, managed it, and secretly prayed that one day she’d get strong enough for it to just go away.

When Allen had slipped away in the middle of the night, Leah had been glad. Earlier she’d fallen to sleep next to him with her body feeling like a mild electrical shock had been administered to her. Not enough to do her any harm, but more than enough to leave her on edge.

Leah floated up out of the darkness of the dream, feeling the terror sink beneath her. She wiped the damp perspiration from between her breasts. She heard the final faded strains of male laughter. His laughter.

Leah trembled reflexively, feeling exhausted. She turned her head toward the window, grateful that there was a flat plane of blue through the glass. It was the sky. It was daylight. She was awake.

Leah knew she wasn’t dreaming when the smell of fresh-brewed coffee accompanied her down the staircase that morning. She was surprised when she walked into the kitchen at seven and found Gail brooding over her cup.

“Morning,” Leah murmured in a tired voice. She got a cup for herself from the cabinet. “When did you get in?”

Gail didn’t answer right away, and Leah turned a frowning expression at her sister’s silence. Finally Gail put her cup down. “Around three. I met Allen leaving.”

Leah poured coffee into her cup. “Did you?” she asked rhetorically, and joined her sister at the table. “Is that all?” Gail seemed unusually subdued, and Leah watched her shrug with impatience.

“I said good morning, he said good night. He made some snide remark about Steven being a jerk.”

Leah kept her gaze on Gail’s face as she sipped carefully from the hot liquid. “And what did you say?” Gail glared at her, and Leah found herself drawing back from it.

“I told him that’s like the pot calling the kettle, black.” Gail got up abruptly and topped off her cup. Then she stood leaning against the edge of the sink drinking.

Leah turned in her chair to look at her sister. “Was that necessary?”

Gail sucked through her teeth. “I don’t understand why you let him treat you this way.”

“What?” Leah asked quietly.

“Like you’re a convenience. Like you’re here for his pleasure and he can come and go as he pleases. The man is selfish and insensitive.”

Leah frowned, although Gail’s observations touched a nerve in her. “Why should you care? Who made you a monitor and judge of my business? You’ve never liked Allen and that’s obvious.”

“I’m just thinking about you.”

“Thanks, but don’t. I can handle Allen. It’s not as one-sided as you think.”

“I just don’t like what he’s doing. … or the way he’s doing it.”

Leah couldn’t argue with that. Instead she faced forward, wrapped her hands around the warm cup, and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I suppose I should thank you for your concern … Allen’s okay. He treats me well enough. Maybe he’s a little self-centered. Yes, he complains too much … but there ain’t a whole hell of a lot of choices out there. He’s smart and good-looking. Like you, he’s just very involved with his career right now. He’ll settle down.”

“Are you really willing to wait that long? For him to settle down? Do you love him that much?” Gail asked.

Leah shrugged indifferently. “Love isn’t the point,” she murmured cryptically.

She felt like she sleepwalked through work that afternoon. She should have been able to predict that it would happen. It was always the follow-through to a night of having been victimized in her dreams. It was always a stark reminder not to get too complacent and not to feel too safe. But it also made Leah angry. When she looked at her life, her routine, what was there to be so assured about? Her home? Her relationship with her sister? A life that was comfortable and relatively easy? These were givens. She just felt … needy. Sometimes so very needy. Was that Allen’s fault? It seemed that her relationship with him should have countered everything, all the other doubts. He should have made a difference. But he didn’t.

Leah left work that afternoon in pretty much the disoriented state she’d begun the day with. The wind whipped leaves around the streets. They made a crinkly orange and yellow mess behind steps, against buildings, and piled up in drain holes. But the colors were beautiful, like confetti being tossed around in the air.

As Leah left the subway for the usual walk home, the brisk, chill day reminded her that Thanksgiving was mere weeks away and she and Gail had not yet given any thought as to how they would spend it. And of course, Christmas was not far behind. She thought of calling her father to see if he could be persuaded to fly to New York for at least one of the holidays. Leah wondered absently if she and Gail would get an invitation out to Thanksgiving dinner, saving them the job of cooking.

A gust of wind caught Leah from behind, blowing her hair around her face. She was almost upon her doorstep before she realized there was someone standing—waiting, actually—in front of her. Using one hand to smooth her now tangled hair, she squinted against the wind and saw a man staring at her. He was white, of just above average height, dressed in jeans and a black turtleneck sweater with a brown corduroy sports jacket. He had both hands in his front jeans pockets, and, rather than seeing him as a threat as he stood with his legs braced apart and staring right at her, Leah was instantly struck by her sense of uncertainty about him. His look was intent and never left her face as she slowed her steps. He was blocking her path. Then she noticed the gray eyes. Her stomach lurched as she realized he was familiar. No. She recognized him. Jay Eagle.

“It’s you …” Leah murmured in amazement. She quickly noticed the distinct differences in him now, from more than a month ago. There was an unexpected satisfaction in seeing that she’d been right. He wasn’t homeless or a derelict. “I wondered what had happened to you,” she added artlessly.

“Did you?” he questioned automatically.

She shrugged, watching him with interest. Leah was aware of an odd sensation, as though she’d been living with a ghost and it had finally materialized before her. She felt vindicated, in a way, that her defense of him when Gail would have called the police had been justified. They’d been in no danger from him.

And, Leah thought as she took in the whole presence of him, she no longer even considered him a real stranger. In his right mind, shaven, freshly dressed, and lucid, he was even more intriguing. She was relieved and surprised.

“You didn’t seem too together that night. But I didn’t think you were drunk.”

“It was a rough night. I was only half drunk.”

Leah tilted her head in curiosity. “What about the other half?”

The question made him only half smile. He glanced away briefly for a moment, as if trying to decide for himself. He lifted his shoulders in a vague gesture. “Lost.”

Leah didn’t need another explanation. She nodded. “Well, I can see you’re okay now,” she said, her voice trailing off.

“I’ll live,” he answered flippantly.

There was an awkward silence while they appraised each other. He stood as if he were expecting Leah to say something, some sort of signal as to how he should respond. But all Leah could think to do was try to find her house keys in her shoulder bag and pull up the collar of her coat against the cold.

“Do you live around here?” she finally asked politely.

He seemed suddenly nervous. “No, I don’t.”

“Then, what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away, and Leah watched as he turned to look toward a car double-parked at the curb. A bulky black man sat in the driver’s seat. The man, while he might not have been able to hear the conversation, was nonetheless watching her intently. She was alert to his wary gaze, which was not friendly.

“I came to find you,” the man in front of Leah responded, drawing her attention from the man in the car. “I wanted to thank you for the coffee.”

Leah couldn’t describe how his thank-you made her feel, but it virtually blew away the edginess of her day. Still, she shook her head. “You don’t have to thank me. It was only coffee.” The driver in the waiting car honked the horn. “If he’s waiting for you, you’d better go.” She took a few steps around him, headed toward the house.

He looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to be at work.”

Leah looked at her watch. “It’s six-thirty. You work nights?”

He lifted a corner of his mouth in a grin. “I work twenty-four hours a day” was the cryptic reply. Suddenly he blurted out, “I thought maybe we could go for a drink or something. …”

Leah stopped dead in her tracks and turned to stare at him.

He shrugged. “Maybe coffee.”

“Why?” Leah asked. She was more puzzled than suspicious.

“Why not? Like you said, it’s only coffee.”

“I would think you’d had enough of that.”

“It’s safer than gin,” he said dryly.

“Look. …” Leah began uneasily. “I’m glad you’re okay, but let’s leave it at that.”

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious?”

“About what?”

“About what was going on that night with me.”

“Not really,” she lied. “But I’m glad to see you’re okay. Why don’t we just call it square for the coffee?”

“How about Saturday? I could meet you at noon,” he suggested, ignoring her previous answer.

It struck Leah that he was used to asserting himself. His tenor voice was nicely modulated. It was clear and firm. She thought about his invitation but saw no hidden meanings or suggestions. But there was also a sense of caution and danger. Much more than when he was down and almost out in front of her home. Leah didn’t think for a moment that he was a deviant or perverted, but just talking with him this way made her suddenly aware of herself, and suddenly just as aware of him. The difference between them was suddenly stark.

She shook her head, again moving toward the house. “I don’t think so.” She began to climb the steps to the front door, key in hand, aware that he stood watching. Aware of a sudden spiraling of excitement within her. Danger. Leah felt a rush.

“Why not?” he called up to her.

Leah chuckled silently and gave him a look of exasperation. “Can’t you just take no for an answer?”

“I’d maybe accept a better answer.”

Leah lost the annoyed edge to her voice. It turned to amusement at his persistence, his ease in light of the only history that existed between them.

“Just because,” Leah replied. “How’s that?”

“Try again,” he challenged.

Leah stood on the top step outside her front door and gazed down on him. There was something very strong and sturdy about the way he returned her appraisal. There was also confidence and sharp awareness in his eyes, and Leah sensed quickly, Jay Eagle was probably an honest man. She glanced at the waiting man again and wondered who he was.

“I don’t go out with men who are in the habit of getting half drunk.”

Her remark hit home. Leah watched Jay Eagle’s expression change, as the narrowing of his eyes seemed to cut into her. Leah instantly wished she’d said something else. She turned away from his stare.

The car honked again. Leah slowly unlocked the door. Then she hesitated. She turned around quickly, her breathing suddenly short.

“Wait a minute, Jay Eagle.”

He was already at the curb, about to climb into the passenger side of the car, when her voice stopped him.

“How about Sunday? I can do Sunday. One o’clock?” Her heart thumped. She was out of her mind.

He merely nodded, opening the door of the waiting car. “Fine. I’ll see you at one, Leah Downey. Here.”

Leah’s eyes widened in real suspicion now. “How do you know my name?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. He climbed into the car and it pulled away from the curb. As it reached the far corner and turned, Leah considered the burly black man’s expression as he’d stared at her. It was censoring, probably because she was black and had just accepted an invitation from a white man. And maybe it also held a warning that Leah recognized and had chosen to ignore. She hoped that she wasn’t making a major mistake.

S
ATURDAY STARTED OUT NORMALLY
enough with a phone call to Melvin Downey in Chicago. His daughters had tried to talk him into flying to New York for the holidays. He was tempted, he answered, but really didn’t relish the idea of juggling himself and his luggage around other people in the cold of winter. Leah and Gail knew that he had gotten comfortable in his solitary retirement in Chicago. He had his own circle of friends and his own routine. He no longer needed companionship simply because the holidays were approaching.

After the long-distance call to Chicago came the ritual of Saturday chores: running all the little errands that prepared for the week ahead while cleaning up after the mess of the last one.

“Are we expecting Allen to come over tomorrow?” Gail asked as she dusted the top of the piano in the living room.