Dream Keeper (12 page)

He pulled at the neck of his Falcons shirt while the elevator climbed toward the seventeenth floor. Jerry Glanville might have put the Falcons ‘back in black’ for good luck back in ’93, but right now the shirt was the hottest and most uncomfortable piece of clothing Dench had ever worn—and Rissa was responsible for his wearing it. She’d brokered his coaching contract just four months earlier.

A little sick to his stomach, he tried to imagine how he was going to feel when he reached her office. “She’s probably sitting there at her desk with a mountain of paper piled up around her,” he promised himself. “Got her shoes kicked off and the computer fired up, too.” He pulled at his shirt again. “Dude, she’s going to be madder than a wet hen when I pull her away from work.” The words didn’t really make him feel better when the elevator doors opened, but they made sense to his heart.

From where he stood, the offices of MYT, Unlimited looked deserted and his stomach dropped. The office closed at three on Fridays and she was the one who insisted on the monthly dinner date with her brother’s family.
She just forgot about the time, she’s fine.
Dench held the thought on mental lockdown and pushed at the office door.

Locked, the door didn’t budge, and he fought the urge to put his foot through it. Instead, he reached for his keys and sorted through the bunch to find the emergency key Rissa had given him the night he’d asked her to marry him. Turning it between his fingers, he realized how proud he was of the silver key. Somehow, it was one of the ties that bound him to her life. It was proof that she trusted him enough to share everything she cared about with him. And now he was going to use it to search for the woman who represented everything he cared about.

She just forgot about the time, she’s fine.

He pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

She just forgot about the time, she’s fine.
He would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that he believed the words, but as he stepped into the dark and empty office suite, every instinct he could call his own told him that something was wrong. He hit the lights and called her name—no answer.
She’s here, and she’s fine.

She was definitely here; he could feel her in the silence. But something was wrong; he could feel that, too. Walking past Karee’s deserted desk, he made the turn toward Rissa’s office, trying to keep hope alive in his heart—but hope was a lie. He didn’t feel any better.

“Rissa?” Feeling every nerve in his body reach for her, he walked carefully through the office.
If she’s here, why isn’t she answering?
Afraid to wait for an answer, Dench continued through the darkened suite until he came to Rissa’s office. Letting himself in, he saw her jacket and briefcase—she would never leave without those.

“Rissa?” he called into the darkened space. “Rissa?” Approaching her desk, noticing the handwritten notes beside her computer, he was tempted to turn on the lights, but it didn’t feel right, even as he caught the scent of chocolate on the air.

Chocolate?
He blinked against the dusky light coming through the broad windows behind her desk and searched the office until his eyes found the splattered remains of the ruined cake on the floor.
Office food fight?
It made no sense, especially when he saw her overturned purse. “Rissa?”

This time he heard the small answering moan and his breath stopped. Moving her chair, he looked down to see his wife’s long, shapely legs beneath her desk. “Rissa?” Dropping to his knees, he found her crumpled into the knee space like a broken doll. “Rissa? Baby?” Her ravaged face, swollen and streaked with makeup turned to mud, turned to him.

“Dench?” She whispered his name, almost as though she feared being overheard.

“Yes, it’s me.” He reached for her and was hurt when her arm twitched away from his hand.
Man up
, he scolded himself,
she needs you
. “Come on out, baby.” When she looked at him, he opened his arms, inviting her to take refuge in him. She hesitated and he nodded, encouraging her. “I’m here and I’m not going to leave you.” She swiped a hand under her runny nose and inched closer to him. “Come on,” he urged, waiting.

Her trembling hand reached for him and folded into his when he reached again. Slowly, she inched toward him, bending into his embrace. His hands moved over her body, searching for injury and praying against it. Finding her whole made him weak and Dench found himself sitting on the floor beside her desk. Almost afraid to speak, he wordlessly held her, feeling his shirt grow wet with her grief.

He held her, letting her cry until she ran out of tears. Finally spent, breath hitching through her chest, Rissa sat up in his lap and scrubbed the heels of both hands against her eyes.

“Guess I look bad, huh?”

It would have been funny if he hadn’t found her crammed under her desk looking like this. He nodded and rubbed a hand along her arm.

She sniffed twice and rubbed her eyes again. “I kind of made a mess in here, didn’t I?” Still rubbing her arm, he nodded again, and she buried her face in her hands. “It’s been that kind of a day.” His arms collected her and held her close to his heart while she kept her face covered. “Say something, Dench. Please don’t just sit here holding me like I’m fragile or valuable or something.”

“You are valuable to me,” he murmured into the soft, inky darkness of her hair. Still holding her, he began to rock slowly, swaying with her, and the motion calmed them both.

She dropped her hands from her face and used them to hold his. “Ask me what happened today.”

“What happened today, Rissa?” He continued to sway.

“I pissed Yvette off—royally.”

“Yvette’s your partner and a friend. She’ll survive.”

“Yes, but I owe her an apology.”

“You’ll apologize and she’ll accept. Is that why you threw a cake across the room?”

She drew a sharp breath and stopped rocking for a beat. When she started again, Dench followed her rhythm. “Brenda Clarence baked the cake—red velvet. She didn’t feel like making chicken soup.”

“Chicken soup?”

“For an invalid. That’s why I was so pissy with Yvette. They were all treating me like I’m not able to handle anything since I lost the baby.”

Dench half smiled in the dusky office. “So you threw the cake across the room. Guess you showed them.”

She sighed, and he thought she smiled a little. “No, I threw the cake later, after I found out that Sierra had her baby.” She felt his surprise in the tension that vibrated through his fingers and along her arm. “Today at four-fifteen, the Clarences became the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy, twenty inches long, seven pounds and eight ounces.” Turning to face him, she sighed. “We sent flowers and a beautiful hand-sewn layette. Do you think that makes up for the cake?”

Dench kissed her forehead and nodded.

“Am I crazy, Dench? You can tell me. She gets a beautiful, healthy baby, and I get a big-assed cake. How is that right? I’m jealous as hell, but now I’m all cried out and I think I may have damaged our new beginning.” Twisting in his arms, she looked into his face. “This would be a good time to tell me if you think I’ve lost my mind.”

“No, baby, I don’t think you’re crazy, and you killed the big-assed cake.”

“And our baby. You can say it. I know what I did.”

“Rissa, no.”

“I should have listened. I should have…”

“Listen to me. The only thing you’ve done wrong is to keep blaming yourself.” His fingers were tender when they stroked her cheek and directed her face to his. His voice when he spoke was balm to her soul. “Baby, I understand that you did everything you knew to do, you did everything you could to be right.” Then he sat, simply holding her, breathing with her because there was nothing more for him than her.

When he pulled her desk chair close enough, he leaned on it and stood slowly. Taking her hand, he drew his wife to her feet and stood in the semi-darkness, holding her. Smoothing a hand over her short hair, he smiled. It was longer now, beginning to curl at her ears and over her shirt collar—a symbol of their new beginning.

She rested against him and sighed. “You could run now, and nobody would blame you.”

“Yeah, but you would keep the house, and the house has you in it. I could never leave a house with you in it.”

“Even if the house has no children in it?”

“Rissa, you’re all I need, and I need you like the ocean needs a beach. Without you, there is no definition for me, no place to come back to. You’re not crazy, and I’m not leaving you.”

She relaxed against him and Dench kissed the top of her head, then looked over her shoulder and out into the blue Buckhead night.

Lord, now what do we do?

Chapter 9

AJ cleared his throat and hoped he didn’t sound as embarrassed as he felt. It was bad enough to find your best friend on your doorstep first thing in the morning talking to himself and trying to figure out how to work things out with his wife. But when your best friend lived right down the street and was married to your sister…well, it was enough to raise more than a little concern. And now he wanted to talk, man-to-man. About Rissa.

“Have you two thought of counseling?”

“Thought? That’s been about my only thought since she crawled out from under that desk.” Dench blew out hard, the blistering sound rude and loud in AJ’s office. He was glad the door was closed. “I sat down last night and told her that I thought it was our only alternative.”

“And what did she say to that?”

“Dude, you know her, she’s your sister. She told me that she’d lost a baby, not her mind—flat-out dismissed it.” Dench turned from the broad window to face his friend. “Dude, I love her more than a fat kid loves cake and damn it, I need her. But I don’t know what else to do for her.”

“So you took your troubles on the road and walked them down to my house?”

“She’s your sister. I figured that you care about her almost as much as I do. I’m looking for a new perspective here.” Dench’s brow furrowed when he frowned.

“Not trying to make things any worse, but whatever you do, you need to go home and face her. I can’t see you fixing this from my house.”

“You putting me out?”

“No way, I’m just telling you what I know from experience. You can’t fix anything long distance—especially not with a woman.” AJ reached across the desk, picked up the gilt picture frame and smiled as he turned it to his friend. “See this? This is Marlea on the day we got married. The pretty white dress, carrying those white peonies she loves so much, and that look on her face. You look at this and all you see is my beautiful, hopeful bride. You don’t see her amputated toes, the career she thought she’d lost, Bianca’s mess, or any of the other stuff we went through. If I’d run, or let her run and put distance between us, we couldn’t have fixed anything—and damned if I would ever want to give up what we have.”

Dench swallowed and a half smile sketched across his face. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and remembered that Marlea Kellogg would forever be the one who almost got away from AJ Yarborough.

Still looking at the photo, AJ sat back in his chair. “A world-class runner, and I went and ran into her at a local 10K.”

“Knocked her flat,” Dench recalled. “Made her miss her time, knocked her out of the Olympic trials.”

“And she tried to hand me my face.” AJ grinned, sitting forward, leaning on his desk. “Look, Dench, all I’m saying is that women feel things differently than we do.”

“Dude, you think I don’t know that? I still remember how hurt Marlea was when you first brought her here—all depressed and betrayed.” Dench paused and frowned. “Whatever happened to that doctor, the one who ran into her car and then did the surgery on her?”

“Reynolds?” It was AJ’s turn to frown as he ran his fingers over the photo, touching the image of his wife’s face. “Not as much as Marlea would have liked, I guess. Parker Reynolds did his time and got married almost the minute he got out of jail.”

“Still practicing?”

“Wound up having his license revoked.” AJ moved the photo back to its place of honor on his desk. “You know he was in the paper again last week.”

Dench snapped his fingers and nodded. “Yeah, I thought that was him. The wife is Desireé, or something like that, right? She’s filing for divorce, asking for millions, claiming economic incompatibility. What is that supposed to mean?”

AJ grinned. “Claims he’s devoted himself to volunteering and it causes her social duress.”

“Yeah, I can see how that would reduce her circumstances.” Dench’s chuckle rolled into full laughter. “Here she went and married a doctor who refuses to doctor and she’s socially embarrassed—what a comedown. And all it will take to make her anguish easier to bear is a few million dollars.”

AJ’s finger touched Marlea’s photo again—for luck.

Warming to the gossip, Dench dropped into the chair across from AJ’s desk, one long leg draped over the chair’s arm. “What’s Bianca up to these days, and are you keeping track of her?”

“Man, I value my life and my wife is fast—you don’t play around on a woman who can run like she can.” AJ laughed. “Of course, she knows everything I know about Bianca. I learned that lesson the first time around—don’t play with Marlea and secrets.”

“So what is she up to these days? Still trying to slide into somebody’s pocket?”

“You know Bianca.” AJ shrugged. “Same old, same old. I don’t want to look up and find her finagling her way into my bank account again.”

“But where there’s a will…”

“She’ll try to make a way. She’s still trying to build a name for herself as a designer, but I hear she’s given up on football players. Trying to get with some music folks.”

Dench swallowed laughter. “Looking for the next Russell Simmons?”

“Something like that, and as long as she’s not looking in Atlanta, and keeps her distance from me and my family, whatever she does is her business.”

“I just pity the fool she gets her hooks into, because you know she won’t quit.”

“No, she won’t quit. She wants what she wants and only knows one way to get it. I’m just glad that Marlea came into my life and stayed.” AJ watched Dench nod and they settled into companionable silence. Dench’s eyes went deep and thoughtful as he turned his face back to the window. They’d been friends long enough for AJ to guess at what was going through the other man’s mind.

“So what are you going to do?” he finally asked.

“You mean besides pray?” Dench sighed and shifted his leg from the chair. Standing, he looked like a man wishing he was heading anywhere but where he had to go. “I guess I’m going to head home and check on the roses like I promised Rissa.” He shrugged. “Then I’m going to sit down and talk to my wife.”

“Ultimatums don’t work with her. They never have.”

Pushing up from his chair, Dench held AJ’s eyes. “I know. That’s why I’ll be working with a hope and a prayer.”

“But you’ve got no net, so if you fall…”

Looking back from the door, Dench grinned. “That’s what the prayer is for, dude. Wish me luck.”

“You got it.” Watching his friend leave, AJ nodded and hoped. Talking helped, but if it was going to work, then Rissa was going to have to listen. Dench was going to need that hope and prayer.

Walking into his home, Dench paused in the kitchen. He could feel Rissa in the house, listening, almost dreading his need to talk to her. In the distance, he could hear the muted sounds of the television, and he wondered if she was really watching it. She said she was going back to work on Monday.
She’ll do it to prove her strength
, he guessed. The thought of her returning to a space scented with stale chocolate still made his stomach tighten.

At least that won’t happen
. The cleaning crew he’d called this morning would see to it. But still, there was the thought of her going back and maybe winding up under the desk again.

Tempted to walk down the hall just to look in on her, Dench stopped when the phone rang. Reaching quickly, he grabbed the handset. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dennis Charles. How are you today?” His mother-in-law’s lilting magnolia-drenched voice poured into his ear and Dench pictured Sandra Yarborough sitting in her sunroom enjoying her usual mint-spiked iced tea and a stack of travel brochures.

“I’m fine, how about you?”

“I’m just fine, darlin’. I just wanted to touch base with you all before I leave tonight. I’ll miss you all, especially my grands, but I can’t wait to get on that plane. This will be my first trip to Kenya.” Her soft laughter bubbled over the phone. “I’ll be doing a photo safari, so you know I’ll be using some of the film you gave me for Christmas.”

Dench smiled, recognizing the flirty tone Rissa had inherited. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take the digital camera?”

“You shouldn’t tease your elders, son. Everybody doesn’t share my pleasant disposition,” Sandra drawled. “I’ll take it, though it probably won’t see much use. But now the film and flashbulbs, they will come in handy. I’m going to take lots of pictures and bring back lots of souvenirs.”

And she will. Like mother, like daughter
, Dench thought—Rissa always enjoyed practical gifts, and she enjoyed giving them as much as getting them. Sobering, his eyes went to the hall and he imagined her sitting in the middle of their bed, pretending to watch television.
She lost her chance to give me the gift she thought I would cherish most…

“Dennis Charles Traylor, do you hear me talking to you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His attention snapped back to his mother-in-law and he tried to stay tuned to her words. He’d known the woman for years and had sat at her table for more meals than he cared to count. She was as much mother as mother-in-law, and as mother-in-laws went, Sandra Yarborough was a pretty good one, but she was also intuitive and smart.

“Why are you so distant today, Dennis Charles? You seem to have something on your mind. Is everything all right with the team?”

“Me?”
Her radar’s up and on full blast.
“No, I’m not distant. The team is good, especially since we’re looking healthy and strong in the off-season. Everything is fine.”

“You said that too fast.” Weighing his response, her tone changed slightly. “How is Rissa? Is she treating you right? Are you treating her right?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.”

“I see. It’s about the baby, then? She hasn’t come to terms with the loss yet, has she?” Sandra’s sigh was deep and heartfelt. “That’s an odd expression isn’t it? ‘Come to terms.’ There are just some situations that have no acceptable terms, and yet, if one is to carry on, there is nothing else to do.”

Ain’t that the truth? Rissa can’t seem to come to terms with the loss of the one thing she wanted most.
Sandra’s easy philosophy made sense, but left him cold and he said nothing.

“I thought about canceling my trip…”

“Please don’t.” Holding the phone, Dench suddenly realized he was also holding his head and wondered when the headache began. “It’s not that we don’t love you, but this is something we have to work through on our own.” The headache took a turn for the worse.

“She always did take everything personally, even as a child. That was one of the things I worried about when she decided on law school, that she would bring every case home with her. But I can honestly say that I’ve never once worried about her with you.” Sandra was silent for a beat and then she sighed heavily. “Put my baby on the phone, would you, please?”

Dench opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. “She’s, uh, in the bedroom. I’ll get her for you.”

He decided against just calling out her name. It would have been too easy for her to pretend not to hear. Putting the phone on hold, he walked carefully into the bedroom where Rissa lay curled on her side vaguely watching the figures moving across the television’s flat panel. Trying to keep his voice light, he forced a smile and watched her mirror it. At the bedside, he picked up the phone and pressed the button. “It’s your mom. She wants to speak to you.”

Rissa’s back curved gracefully as she curled more tightly in on herself. Cheek pressed against the pillow she held close to her body, she looked up at Dench and shook her head.

Watching her, he opened his mouth, but on the other end of the line, Sandra beat him to it. “I’m sure she just said that she didn’t want to talk, didn’t she? You tell that girl I said to get on this phone, and be quick about it.”

Caught in the middle, Dench looked at his wife, but before he could repeat the words, Rissa closed her eyes and held her hand out for the phone.
Must be one of those mother/daughter things.
He handed the phone to her and left the room.

Holding the phone, Rissa listened to the pad of her husband’s steps retreating across the hardwood floor before opening her eyes. “Hi, Mom.” She heard her mother inhale.
Prelude to harangue
, she thought. “Before you start, do I get to at least say that I don’t want to talk to you about it?”

Sucking her teeth, Sandra Yarborough counted to ten. “If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to, but that means you’ll be listening while I talk.”

Holding the phone, Rissa mumbled something and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her mother took the ensuing silence as agreement. “I thought you told me that you loved Dench.”

Rissa blinked at the phone. “You just called him Dench. You usually call him Dennis Charles. Why the sudden name change?”

“Answer the question, Marissa.”

Flinching at the use of her given name, Rissa’s eyes went to the door. He was gone, probably back to his office. “I do,” she said. “To tell the truth, I always will.”

“Then why are you stealing yourself from him?”

“I’m not…Things are just hard right now.”

“Going to school was hard. Convincing your father that law school was right for you was hard. Managing AJ was hard. Starting the agency was hard. Learning to work with your partner was hard. This is not the first hard thing you’ve ever done, Marissa.”

“Losing a baby is not the easiest thing I’ve ever done, either.”

Both women drew long breaths. “Of all the hard things you’ve accomplished, you’ve never done any of them alone. You’re not alone now, or at least you wouldn’t be if you didn’t push him away.”

“I never meant to push him away.” Furrowing her brow, Rissa was swept with more need than a five-year-old. For a moment, she wished her mother was in the room, that she could climb into her lap, stick her thumb in her mouth and be comforted. “I don’t know if we’ll ever have our own child, but I do know how much he wants one. He wants a family, Mom, and apparently I can’t give that to him.”

“Marissa, there are a lot of ways to build a family.”

“I know…”

“And for heaven’s sake, do you realize what a crap shoot pregnancy is? How many billions of chances there are for things to go wrong before just one baby comes into this life?”