A Passion Denied (18 page)

Mitch shut the door a little too hard and dropped in a chair. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“What? Why?”

Patrick ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “Because you’re not yourself. Something’s wrong when the best editor I’ve ever had starts falling to pieces over some rich-boy pantywaist. What’s going on, Mitch? Are you and Charity okay?”

“Yes, of course we’re okay. Don’t we seem okay?”

“Well, now that you bring it up, no, you don’t. It seems like you’ve turned into a powder keg at work these last few months. And Charity, well, lately I’ve noticed you two sniping at one another now and then.”

Mitch groaned and bent forward, elbows on his knees. He rubbed his face with his hands. “We’re fine, Patrick.”

“No, you’re not. Something’s eating at you, and apparently it’s not only affecting your work, it’s affecting your marriage.” With a heavy sigh, Mitch slumped back in the chair. “This is not an easy subject to discuss.”

“Try me.”

Mitch studied him through lidded eyes, as if wondering if he should even bother. He finally sighed and began rubbing the side of his head. “When Marcy was pregnant, in her later months, did you . . . ever worry that you might . . . you know, hurt her or the baby?”

Patrick shifted in his chair. “Do you mean when we—”

“Yes—that’s what I mean. Did you? I mean, worry?”

“No.”

“Not even the first time?”

Patrick frowned and leaned on a fist, trying to remember. “Not that I recall.”

“Did you . . . refrain in her later months?”

Patrick chuckled. “No, Marcy wouldn’t let me.”

Mitch moved to the edge of the chair and clutched the desk. “She wouldn’t?”

“Nope, at least not when she was pregnant with Faith—I recall that most distinctly. I remember being shocked because she seemed . . . so much more . . . interested.”

Mitch shot to his feet. “Yes! That’s Charity too. She won’t leave me alone, and all I’m trying to do is protect her and the baby.”

Patrick laughed. “From what? You can’t hurt them, trust me.”

“I wish I could, Patrick. But I’ve seen otherwise.”

“What? When?”

Mitch fanned a hand through his hair and began to pace. “My mother, when I was ten. She . . . was seven months pregnant and . . . lost the baby. The brother I never had.”

“Mitch, I’m sorry. But you think she lost it because your father—”

He stopped pacing to give Patrick a cold stare. “Not my father. He died the year before. One of my mother’s many acquaintances.”

“Even so, I can’t believe—”

“He was there all night, Patrick, and I heard them, more than once. He was gone by the time I woke up. Gone by the time she started bleeding.”

“Dear God . . .”

“And now I have a wife who needs my love more than ever, and I cringe at the thought. Every time—every single time—I see my mother writhing in pain, a pale ghost in a pool of blood.”

“Sweet mercy . . . did she—”

“No, she survived, thank God.”

“Mitch, I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Patrick. But now you understand the strain I’ve been under.”

“Does Charity know . . . about what happened to your mother?”

“No, I didn’t want to alarm her in any way.”

Patrick scratched the back of his head. “Well, I suggest you tell her the truth.”

“And scare her?”

“Knowing my daughter the way I do, I doubt it will scare her, but it certainly might relieve her own personal fears. She probably thinks you’re not attracted to her anymore.”

Mitch propped his hands on the back of the chair and laughed. “Yes, she does, as a matter of fact. As if that were even possible.”

“It might work in your favor, you know. She would suddenly understand your hesitation and might be more willing to negotiate.”

Mitch chuckled and shook his head. “Negotiate? With Charity? I thought you said you knew your daughter.”

Patrick eased back in his chair and grinned. “Trust me, I do. I married her mother.”

Lizzie hummed to herself as she flung her sweater on the coatrack in the back room of Bookends. She quickly surveyed her lipstick in the mirror, then poked her head into the tiny office off the hall. Mary sat stiff and straight at a scarred wooden desk piled high with papers and a typewriter. She was chewing on the nail of her thumb. Lizzie flashed an encouraging smile. “All settled in?”

“I think so . . . me
and
the mouse.”

“Ooops. Forgot to tell you about that, but you’ll get used to it. Try to think of him as the pet you never had.”

Mary smiled. “You headed back to school so quickly after dropping me off this afternoon that I never really got a chance to thank you for referring me. I’m very grateful, Lizzie. I think I’m going to like it here.”

Lizzie glanced at the clock in the back room, then ambled in to sit down. “You’re welcome. I knew he’d hired you on the spot when we walked through the door. So tell me how your first three hours have been? I’ve got a few moments before I’m officially on.”

“Okay.”

“You said you just got into town. Where from?”

Her smile seemed tentative. “New York.”

“Wow, New York! I’ve heard it’s fabulous. Why’d you leave?”

She glanced away, focusing on a movie poster hanging on the wall—Rudolph Valentino from
The Sheik
. All at once the soft innocence of her blue eyes seemed shadowed with tragedy. “Let’s just say I was involved with the wrong man.”

“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s okay. The love has been gone for a long time now. And he finally gave me a reason to leave.”

“Do you know anyone in Boston? Relatives, friends?”

She smiled. “I know you. But no, no relatives here, or friends, for that matter. But I’m hoping you and I can be close, Lizzie. How old are you, anyway?”

“Almost eighteen. And you?”

“Twenty-one, but some days I feel a lot older.” For a moment she seemed lost in a stare, then blinked it away and gave Lizzie a wry smile. “Kind of like my life is passing me by, before I’ve had any fun.”

Lizzie chuckled. “You want fun? Have you met Millie yet?”

A twinkle lit Mary’s eyes. “Oh yes. She says you and she are good friends.”

“Since the first grade. She’s a little crazy, but sometimes I think I could do with a bit more of that.” Lizzie tilted her head. “Millie likes to go to the dance pavilion at Revere Beach, if you’d like to join us sometime.”

Mary smiled and reached for her pen. She absently rolled it between her fingers, her gaze following the motion. “I would like that a lot. But if you don’t mind, what I would like even more is to join you and Brady for Bible study.” Her hand stilled on the pen. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Lizzie shook her head and laughed, the sound of it hollow. “No, no, he’s not. Not that I wouldn’t want him to be because . . . well, Brady is really something special. But I’m afraid he’ll never be anyone’s boyfriend. He’s more interested in God than women. Besides, I’m seeing someone else right now.”

“Oh, I just thought . . . well, you two seemed pretty close.”

“Oh, we are. I’ve known him since I was thirteen, when he became my brother-in-law’s business partner. Brady and I, well . . . we love each other a lot . . .” Lizzie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Just not that way.” She jumped up from the chair, suddenly anxious to get to work. “I better go or Mr. Harvey will be looking for me. It’s been nice getting to know you, Mary. And it will be even nicer having you join Brady and me for our Bible study. Which day are you coming?”

Mary blinked. Hesitation softened her tone. “Well, I was hoping to come all three, if that’s all right with you.”

Lizzie swallowed her disappointment and gave her a perky smile. “Great! You know where his shop is, so I guess we’ll see you Wednesday at noon. He’s a great teacher. He has this amazing way of opening your eyes to God. You won’t be sorry.”

Mary’s smile relaxed, and her eyes took on a faraway look. “No, Lizzie . . . I don’t think I will be.”

Mary was a godsend. Brady listened to their chatter as he poured the coffee and silently thanked God for making this so easy. Mary Carpenter had joined them for the last month, providing a much-needed emotional buffer between Beth and him. At least for him, he thought to himself as he set their cups on the table. He sank into his chair and took a sip of his coffee, noting how much more at ease Mary seemed than the first time they’d met. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him she was a very pretty woman with a not-so-pretty past. Occasionally over the last few weeks, the natural innocence of her face seemed to take on a tragic air, as if she carried burdens no one could see. From the moment Brady had laid eyes on her, he sensed in his spirit she was a soul in desperate need of healing. He gulped his hot coffee and scowled. But then, who wasn’t? He certainly qualified.

“Burn your tongue?” Mary smiled at him as she blew on her coffee.

“What?”

“You were scowling. I figure it was either that large gulp of hot coffee you took or the problem Lizzie’s having with Tom.”

Brady smiled and took a more manageable sip, studying her over the rim of his cup. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.”

Lizzie arched a brow. “Brady! You’re supposed to be my spiritual mentor, and you’re not even listening to what I’m saying?”

He gave Lizzie a lidded stare. “I listen, Beth, to anything significant.”

“You mean to tell me, John Brady, that you don’t consider Lizzie’s love life significant?” Mary quirked her lips. “And satisfy my curiosity, if you will. Why do you still call her Beth when everyone else calls her Lizzie?”

“Because he’s a mule, Mary, who refuses to change. Don’t even try. It’s impossible.”

Brady crossed his arms on top of his Bible. “Are you two troublemakers about done? Maybe we should just forego Psalms to study a chapter on respect for authority.”

“But aren’t you even curious?” Mary asked.

“Nope.” Brady took another sip of coffee and flipped the pages to Psalm 10.

“Well, okay, but as Lizzie’s friend
and
a man, I think you’d be the perfect person to advise her as to what to do when a man gets fresh.”

The coffee pooled in his mouth. He quickly swallowed and locked his gaze on Lizzie, his tone suddenly curt. “He’s pressuring you, Beth?”

Her lips parted and she looked away. A soft hint of rose tinted her cheeks. “Not exactly. I mean, yes, I guess maybe a little, but we’ve been seeing each other for several months now and I . . . well, I just figured that . . . well, that . . .”

“What?” Dread slithered in his gut.

She bit her lip and avoided his eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s just that I’m starting to like it, Brady. A lot.”

“Tom?”

She finally looked up, and he read the embarrassment in her eyes. “Yes, Tom, of course. And . . . kissing him.”

He winced, as if he’d been stung.

Mary laid a hand on Lizzie’s arm, then leaned forward, the blue of her eyes intense. “What’s she supposed to do, Brady? What’s any good girl to do when she
should
say no but
wants
to say yes?”

He took a deep breath to ease the fury in his gut, then forced it out slowly, quietly. Two sets of eyes fixed on him, full of expectancy and more than a little hope. He tightened his jaw. “Well, the Bible says to flee fornication—”

Lizzie put both hands to her red cheeks. “Sweet mother of Job, Brady, you know I’m not talking about that—”

“I know you’re not, Beth, but hear me out. It’s natural to have attraction to the opposite sex. God made us that way. But listen to the wording here—
flee
. Not turn. Not walk away. Not don’t do it, but ‘flee.’ That means run . . . without looking back, lest you change your mind. Flee like your life depends on it. Because it does.”

Lizzie huffed out a sigh. “Now you’re just being melodramatic. How can your life depend on a kiss?”

He lunged across the table and grabbed her hand, pinning his firmly on top. His tone was deadly calm. “Stop it, Beth. Don’t diminish the Word of God. Our spiritual life—and death—hang in the balance depending on how we heed it. Kisses are not the problem. It’s the desire they ignite that can weaken our will to please God. Guard your affections and stay strong. Because when it comes to kisses, men are weak . . . and quite skilled at disarming women.”