Cypress Point (17 page)

“I'm a good guesser.”

Joelle thought something other than guessing was at work here, but she continued. “Fifteen weeks pregnant. I thought about an abortion, but I've wanted a baby so long.”

“And Liam doesn't know?”

“He has no idea.”

“When will you tell him?”

“I don't plan to,” she said. “I'm going to leave before my pregnancy becomes too obvious. I'll move away. I'm not sure where I'll go yet. Maybe to Berkeley where my parents live.”

“Isn't it unfair of you not to let Liam know?” Carlynn leaned toward her on the sofa.

Joelle shook her head. “There's nothing he can do about my being pregnant except feel worse than he already does, Carlynn,” she said. “He can't marry me.”

“Do you really want to leave Monterey?” Carlynn asked her.

Joelle hesitated a moment before answering. “Honestly, no. I love it here. But maybe I can come back someday.” She let out her breath, looking up at the ceiling. “This doesn't have to be forever.”

“Does Liam still perform his music?” Carlynn asked the question, seemingly, out of the blue.

Joelle shook her head. “No. I don't think he's picked up his guitar since Mara went into the nursing home.”

“Well.” Carlynn set her sandwich plate on the coffee table. “There is one thing I know for absolute certain about you, Joelle.” There were tears in Carlynn's eyes as she moved closer to Joelle, wrapping her thin hand around Joelle's where it rested on her knees. “You are a tremendously noble human being.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look at what you're doing, honey. You love this man so deeply that you want to find a way to heal his wife, to return his wife to him, because you know that's what will make him truly happy. Even though
you
love him. Even though you're carrying his
child.
You've placed his happiness above your own. Few people would do that.”

A bit embarrassed, Joelle looked at her uneaten sandwich resting on the coffee table. “It feels good to love someone that much,” she said, her voice a near whisper. “It's the only thing that feels good about this whole situation.”

“The next time I visit Mara,” Carlynn said, “I'd like Liam to be there, as well. Can you arrange that?”

Joelle grimaced. “I'm not even sure how he's going to react to your being there today, Carlynn,” she said. “But I'll ask him.”

“Good.” Carlynn patted her hand and stood up. “Now you'd better get out of here before the fog socks you in.”

Joelle nodded, although she was thinking it might not be that bad to be stuck in the mansion with Carlynn.

At the front door, she kissed Carlynn's cheek.

“Thanks so much,” she said, opening the door and walking outside. The world was filled with translucent gray air, but
all Joelle could think about was that she had a new confidante. An unexpected confidante.

Although she was not very far from Carmel, the fog obscured parts of the road, and she had to drive slowly. She felt trapped inside her car with nothing but the memory of that night with Liam.

She and Liam had sat with Sam on Liam's bed, looking through a picture book with the little boy and singing him silly songs, like “Itsy, Bitsy Spider” and “Pat-a-Cake,” and Sam didn't care a bit that Joelle couldn't carry a tune. He giggled and let her nibble his fingers while he cuddled with her and his dad. When Sam grew tired, Liam carried him into the nursery and tucked him into his crib, but Joelle stayed where she was on Liam's bed. She was looking forward to talking with Liam about the day, and if she realized the sofa in the living room would be a more appropriate place for such conversation, she did not let herself think about it.

Liam came back into the room and fell forward onto the bed, his head resting on his folded arms. Joelle lay down as well, on her side, propping her head up by her elbow. Liam's face was turned toward her, but he was not looking at her. Instead, he seemed to be staring into space. The light on the night table caught the pale blue of his eyes, and she wanted to touch his cheek, the place where the long, sexy crevice formed when he smiled, but she kept her hands to herself instead.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.

He licked his lips. “About you, actually,” he said. “About how great you've been this year. How I couldn't have made it without you. How good you are with Sam. How much I need those late-night phone conversations with you. How incredible you've been at helping me deal with all the nuts-and-bolts issues around Mara—the nursing home, dealing with her doc
tors, the whole gamut. You took so much of the pressure off me by being there.”

“I'm glad,” she said, touched.

With a sigh, Liam rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “We've been grappling with this mess for a year,” he said. “One long fucking year.” He never swore, and the sound of the word coming from his mouth made her wince. “My beautiful wife is a…Oh my God. She's just gone. I don't know who that person is inside that screwed-up body, but Mara's not in there anymore.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Why didn't I listen to her, Jo?” he asked, turning his head to look at her. “Why did I talk her into having a baby? It wasn't my body that had to go through it. If I'd only listened…really let myself
hear
…how afraid she was. How much she didn't want to have a child. She knew it was the wrong thing for her. She knew it.” His chin quivered, and Joelle pressed her hand to the side of his face.

“Shh, sweetie,” she said. “She made the choice. She—”

“It was
my
choice,” he said, his voice breaking. “
You
know it and
I
know it. She did it for me. She had a selfish side to her, I know that, but she would have done anything for me. I took the person who loved me more than I ever deserved to be loved, and I begged her to do something she knew was wrong for her. She had a gut feeling about it, Jo.”

“I know,” she said. “But—”

“I
destroyed
her.” He began crying in earnest, like a child might cry, with rivers of tears and shaking shoulders, and Joelle wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, as though trying to keep the parts of him together. “I
killed
her, Jo,” he said.

“Liam, no,” she said, her own tears beginning to mix with his because she knew his words were, if only in his own heart and head, the truth.

It was a long time before his crying subsided. They lay together, holding each other tightly, and soon all that was left of his tears was an intermittent tremor that passed through his body beneath Joelle's arms.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes to look at her. Really look. She felt him explore every cell on her face as he lifted a long, thick strand of her hair from where it lay against her breast and draped it over her shoulder. “Thank you for being with me,” he said. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” She stared into his eyes for a moment before leaning forward to kiss him, and she was not surprised when he met her halfway. The kiss was long and deep and started a hunger in her body she had not felt for years. He leaned away from her, only to return for another kiss a second later, and when she slipped her tongue between his teeth, he groaned.

She was wearing a long, loose skirt, and as he rolled on top of her, he carved a place between her legs with his own, until she could feel his erection press against her through their clothes. Kissing her harder and deeper, he rocked against her until she was on fire. Reaching her arms behind her, she grabbed the edge of the bookshelf headboard, then felt his teeth and tongue against the flesh on her throat. His hand tugged her blouse from her skirt and slipped beneath the silky fabric to gently squeeze her breast through her bra. She could hear the ragged edge of his breathing…or maybe it was her own that she heard. She needed his mouth on her breast. It was not a wish, not a want, but a
need.

Letting go of the headboard, she reached for the placket of her blouse, and with one quick tug tore it open, the fine mother-of-pearl buttons pinging softly as they hit the hardwood floor of the bedroom. She arched her back as Liam slipped his hands behind her to unhook her bra. He lowered
his head to her breasts, his long hair brushing her chin and her chest, and the moment his mouth circled one of her nipples, she cried out, her body exploding with an orgasm delivered to her through three layers of fabric. Then she was the one who was sobbing, holding on to him as if afraid to let go, her breathing hitching with her tears.

Slowly, Liam raised himself to his knees above her. Taking her hand, he pressed it to the bulge of his penis beneath his slacks, which were still zipped, still belted. He looked at her with the eyes of a man who had not known physical love in a year.

“Please,”
he said.

Slipping out from under him, she guided him down onto the bed where she had been lying. While he watched, she removed her buttonless blouse, then her bra, her skirt, her panty hose, until she was naked, standing next to the bed. The night-table lamp was still on, and she knew her body was not slender and perfect like Mara's, but she didn't feel at all self-conscious. Instead, she felt loved. Liam's face was serious, his gaze held fast to her eyes, as though it was not her nude body he wanted but something deeper inside of her.

Climbing onto the bed, she straddled him and began to unbutton his shirt. He kept his eyes on hers as he ran his hands slowly up her thighs. Bare-chested, he relaxed as she explored his throat and chest and stomach with her tongue and lips. Slowly, and with his help, she finished undressing him, then leaned over to feel the heat of his penis against her cheek before closing her mouth around it. He groaned again and began moving with her, tangling his fingers in her long, thick hair.

“Come here,” he said after a few minutes. “Let me come inside you.”

She lifted her head, her hair falling over her breasts and his
thighs, and moved up the bed until she could slip down on top of him.

“You feel so good,” he said, and he was rocking again, not thrusting the way she was used to, but moving in a way that made her forget everything outside her own body. He held her hips tightly against him when she came this time, and the explosion of his own release quickly followed.

Lying next to him afterward, exhausted and chilled, she pressed her lips to his shoulder. “I love you,” she said, but there was no reply.

She didn't feel it yet herself, but she knew it was coming. The guilt. She feared, though, that it had already found Liam. Without a word, he slipped out of the bed, leaving her skin cool where his body had been touching hers. He reached for the afghan that lay across the end of the bed and covered her with it, tucking it all around her as though he truly cared that she be comfortable and warm. He leaned over, and she felt him brush her hair from her forehead with his hand, then kiss her lightly on the temple. She heard him walk into the bathroom, then into the guest room, closing the door behind him. And she knew that she had both found and lost something, all in the same moment.

L
iam wondered if Joelle was simply ignoring his calls. He'd been trying to reach her since seven, when he'd arrived home from his visit to Mara. He left her one more message, calling her from the phone in his bedroom.

“Call me no matter what time it is when you get home,” he said.

There was no point in going to bed yet because he knew he would not be able to sleep until he'd spoken to her, so he walked into the den and sat down at the computer desk. Once online, he navigated to the Web site that contained the essays—sometimes uplifting, sometimes heartbreaking—about aneurysm survivors. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth all evening, and he tried to relax as he looked through the Web site, but within moments he'd realize his jaw was clamped tight again.

There were no new essays on the site, even though he hadn't visited it in a few days, and he tried to read some of
the older stories, but it was a struggle to find one that could still hold his interest. Those stories had offered him such hope in the beginning. They were written not only by the families of patients, but often by the patients themselves after they'd come back from the brink. In the beginning, he'd imagined Mara one day adding her own essay to the site, but that fantasy had evaporated along with his dreams for their future together.

He knew the essays by heart, and he had analyzed them. They fell into two broad categories: Either the patient had died within a few days, or they had begun their recovery. Sometimes that recovery was rapid, sometimes it was slow and involved many steps backward, but it always headed in the direction of rediscovered health. None described the limbo that had become Mara's existence. He'd longed to find a story like Mara's: a young woman, alive but not truly living, who'd left her husband with a small child and no promise of a future. If he found such a story, he would have written to that husband to ask him how he was handling the situation. How did he get up and keep going every day? How did he face his own future? How did he feel in the middle of the night when he woke up and reached for his wife, his lover, only to remember that she was lying in a nursing home and could offer him nothing more than a vacant smile?

How did other men in his position manage this? At the age of thirty-five, was he to have only his fantasies—and his own hand in the dark—as his wife and lover for the rest of his life? Would this man Liam searched for, but could not find, give in to temptation the way he had with Joelle?

In those moments when he could step back, away from the pain and the loss, he would ask himself if there might be a reason for what had happened to his family. What was he to learn from this? But he could see no lesson here. Just a cruel joke by a cruel god.

He recalled working with the husband of an Alzheimer's patient a couple of years ago. The man had been in his sixties, and he had slept with an acquaintance, a one-night stand. “I needed to know I was still a man,” he'd said.

Liam had maintained his professional composure, remaining nonjudgmental as he helped the man talk through his feelings of loss and grief. Personally, though, he had recoiled from the man's words: “I needed to know I was still a man.” To himself, he'd thought,
Selfish bastard. Whatever happened to your vow of “in sickness and in health”?

When he thought of that man now, he knew he had been of little help to him. He hadn't understood what it was like to lose that part of oneself. Not just sex, but the intimacy that accompanied it, the waking up together with stale breath and bad hair, and feeling love in spite of it all.

His head began to ache as his thinking turned in circles. If he hadn't pushed Mara to have a child, she would be well. She'd still be that healthy, vibrant, bright, talented woman with whom he'd fallen in love. But then he would look at Sam and wonder how he had ever existed before having this child. Sam was a miracle wrapped up in flesh and blood, and the thought that he and Mara might never have created him was unthinkable. And yet, if Sam did not exist, Mara would be well. He could get lost in those thoughts, spinning in a circle that had no end.

He'd picked up Sam at Sheila's that evening after visiting Mara. Once or twice a week, he wanted to visit his wife alone, so Sheila would keep Sam longer. Thank God, he'd been able to work things out with his mother-in-law. They'd had a long lunchtime meeting the day after the spanking incident, when their heads had been cooler and their hearts more in sync, and they'd worked out a compromise: Sheila would not, under any circumstances, spank Sam. Instead, she would call Liam when she had a disciplinary problem, and they would think of a solution together. He'd asked Sheila to reward Sam's good be
havior and not focus too much on the bad. Although she'd looked annoyed at taking parenting advice from him, the plan seemed to be working. He had not heard from Sheila again about the matter in the two weeks since their conversation.

His phone rang, and he quickly logged off the Internet and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” It was Joelle's voice, and he felt the return of anger in a rush.

“What do you think you're doing?” he asked.

“I spoke with Carlynn Shire about Mara, and—”

“Why? You've always pooh-poohed the idea of Carlynn Shire,” he said, truly bewildered by Joelle's behavior. “Your parents—”

“I can't explain it,” Joelle interrupted him. “I just wanted to talk with her about the situation, and when I did, she thought she might be able to help. I didn't think it would hurt to at least let her meet Mara.”

“I can't believe I'm hearing this. You're the one who's always saying she's probably a quack, that she didn't really save your life.”

“I know. But what if I was wrong?” Joelle asked. “Mara believed so strongly in the power of the mind to heal the body. You know that. Don't you think she would have wanted us to try everything we could?”

“Mara
has
no mind,” Liam said, and then winced. That was not true. At least, he didn't want it to be true. “I think it's abusive,” he said. “You subjected Mara to something she didn't ask for. I don't like the idea of some stranger coming in there and—”

“Mara hasn't asked for
any
of the treatment she's received,” Joelle reasoned. “She's dependent on those people who love her to make treatment choices for her.”

She was right, of course, but that didn't stop him.

“I don't want you bringing
anyone
to see Mara without my permission,” he said.

“Didn't you notice Mara seemed a bit more alert when you were there?” Joelle asked.

He scowled into the phone. “No, I didn't. As a matter of fact, I think she was completely worn out from her visit with you and Carlynn Shire. She didn't touch her, did she?”

“She massaged her hands with baby lotion.”

Why that seemed like such an invasion, he couldn't say. He felt as he had when Sheila told him she'd spanked Sam. Mara was as trusting and vulnerable as a little child, ignorant of everything going on around her, and she would smile through any assault.

“She thinks she can help, Liam.”

“That's utterly ridiculous.”

“You may be right, but she's a truly nice woman and maybe she can do something we don't understand. What would it hurt to let her try? She wants to see Mara again. And she asked that you be there, as well.”

“The answer is no, Joelle,” he said. “No, I won't be there, and no, you may not bring her to see Mara. Please don't ask me again. I have enough to deal with right now.” He hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

He walked from the den to the bedroom, still angry, and with an added sense of having escaped from a great threat. If he yelled at Joelle, if he was cruel to her, as he thought he had been on the phone, he was safe. That aching longing he had for her, the love and admiration, didn't exist when he was chewing her out. And he thought, now, that he would be able to sleep tonight.

Around three in the morning, though, he woke up with a start, feeling much as he had the night after they'd made love, when he'd turned away from her with the hope of saving himself.