Home for a Soldier (12 page)

Grace hesitated. “I could get out of
your way. Go back to Jersey City. I don’t have to move out until the end of the
month.”

“No need.” Rory shifted on his feet,
appearing awkward. “In fact, it’s useful if you’re around. I can show you how
everything works.”

“I’ll leave you to take your shower.”
With an uneasy shrug, Grace retreated into the hall, closing the door between
them.

Back in her room, she sank to sit on
the edge of the bed.
Dear God, please bring Rory back to me
, she had
prayed last night. Never before had God paid such prompt attention to her
wishes, but He had played a joke on her by making their interaction strained.
Like an encounter between two strangers.

One night stand. That was all her
marriage had been, judging by how Rory had bundled her back into the hall,
instead of tearing off her clothes and throwing her on the bed, declaring that
he had flown across the country to be with her.

She was in love with him.
The fact hit her, warm and all enveloping, like a blast of air that surges over
the platform as a subway train hurtles out of a tunnel. To her surprise, the
admission made her feel better, cleared the confusion in her mind. She wanted
Rory to be in love with her too.

Grace filled her lungs and blew out a
determined sigh.

Three days. That’s how long she had
to make him care.

* * * *

Rory clicked the mouse to dispatch
another change to his flight reservation. He was used to plans altering without
notice, but this time the uncertainty rattled his nerves. He’d slept until
midday. Then he had taken a stroll to the deli two blocks down to stock up with
the basics. In the refrigerator, he found nothing except a big tub of yogurt,
but the pan on the draining board and the broken shells in the trash told him
Grace had cooked eggs for breakfast.

The thought of her puttering about
the apartment while he slept through the morning hours stirred an odd wave of
contentment inside him.

Forget it.
Rory clenched his jaws as he recalled the careless words of his wedding speech.
“
Will you wait at home for me, Grace?
” he had asked in a moment of
madness. He could offer her nothing, and he sure as hell didn’t expect a woman
to spend the next two years pining after him. He had steered clear of love for
ten years. He would find a way to manage two more days.

He waited, until he heard Grace at
the front door, and then he drifted into the hall. “My schedule’s changed
again,” he informed her. “I’m flying out on Thursday.”

“Thursday?” she cried, her eyes
widening in alarm. Her skin glowed from the crisp winter air, and snowflakes
glinted in her straight sandy hair.

He barely conquered the urge to scoop
her close and bury his face in the crook of her neck, so he could breathe in the
feminine scent that always lingered around her. It had been madness to come to
New York. His muscles tensed as he resolved to keep away from her. That was the
sensible thing to do, for them both. “It’s only one day earlier, Grace,” he
muttered.

“I know—but—” She adjusted the tote
on her shoulder and juggled the straining shopping bags in each hand.

“What have you got?” He bent to
relieve her of the burden.

“I picked up a few groceries.” The
color deepened in her cheeks, and she avoided looking at him. “I thought,
perhaps I could cook tonight. I got a bottle of wine, too.”

“Grace.” He lowered the bags to the
floor and propped his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe
that things between us could be…romantic in nature.”

Her eyes kept stubbornly to the
hardwood floor.

Rory sighed and clasped his fingers
more firmly to her slim shoulders. “I’m going to be gone for two years. You’ve
got a life to get on with.”

“I know.” She shot him a glance from
beneath her brows. “I’m not going to turn into a
bunny-boiler
. I just
thought it would be nice to have a quiet evening at home. It’s not going to be
exactly peaceful when you get to Iraq, is it?” Her chin jutted out in a stubborn
tilt. “I borrowed Debbie’s camera. I want to take photographs, to remember what
you look like. It would be awkward if I didn’t recognize you when I petition for
divorce.”

Rory dropped his hands from her
shoulders. Frustration churned inside him. Why couldn’t Grace be a whiny little
thing, making demands, bugging him, so he could begin to resent her? Why did she
have to stand there, looking lonely and brave at the same time?

He studied her face as she
contemplated him with a hopeful expression in her big eyes, which were
definitely blue. Blue as the wings of the tiny butterflies that he used to chase
over the lawns of the Newport estate when he was a boy.

The rush of childhood memories sent a
ripple of pain through him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone rough. “I’m meeting a
buddy tonight. I’ll be out late.”

“That’s all right.” Grace tried to
smile, but Rory could hear the hurt in her voice.

He brushed aside the niggling guilt
and escaped into his room, where he spent another three hours on email preparing
for his departure. Despite his attempts to focus on the computer screen, his
ears tuned into every sound that filtered in through the closed door.

Cupboards banged in the kitchen.
Footsteps traversed the hall. The lock on the bathroom door closed with a muted
click. A few moments later, water began to cascade in the shower.

Rory closed his eyes. An image of
Grace standing beneath the stream rose in his mind—her body gleaming, her head
tilted up and her back arched, arms raised to sweep the wet hair from her face.
His body tightened, fighting the resolution he had made to keep away from her.

He tried to carry on working, but his
mind refused to concentrate. Tormented by his indecision, Rory threw on his coat
and stormed out.

Up and down the streets he roamed,
all the way along Broadway past Central Park, then across to the east and down
south again. The night gathered around him. The crowds thinned, and windows
turned from warm yellow squares into black, unseeing eyes. On and on he walked,
until his feet ached and the breath labored in his lungs, but he couldn’t banish
Grace from his thoughts.

His gloveless hands grew numb, like
the feelings imprisoned inside him. Why had she got to him? What made his prim
and solemn wife so dangerous, when for ten years he had kept his emotions under
lock and key?

He knew
.

When he boxed in college, once—in a
bout against an unremarkable opponent—he had lowered his guard, and the
challenger had slammed a right hook straight into his jaw. Just in the same way,
he had lowered his guard with Grace. He had toyed with her, teased her, and out
of nowhere, she had slammed a right hook straight into his heart.

You should watch over Rory after he
goes away,
Grace had asked
in her prayers. How long since anyone cared about him? When had someone last
told him it mattered if he lived or died? Rory crossed his arms over his chest
and huddled for warmth as tears of regret painted icy lines down his face.

In the past, he hadn’t been able to
protect someone he loved.

Will you wait at home for me, Grace?

It was a question he had no right to
ask.

Grace lingered under the covers,
unwilling to face the morning. Her last day with Rory. She wanted to stretch the
time, make each minute last longer. An icy draft fluttered the curtains and the
wind groaned outside. Another storm had gathered, a fitting backdrop for how
tomorrow would cast her back into her bleak and lonely life.

Like Cinderella returning home after
the ball.

In the warm shelter of the bedding,
Grace brought her hands together. Her fingers felt the edge of the wedding band,
and the solid foundation of legal ties banished her sense of defeat.

What could be a more powerful
talisman than the gold circle she wore on her finger?  How many women had a
certificate to prove they were married to Rory Sullivan? None but her, and if
she simply let him go, she could only blame herself.

With a determined thrust, Grace
shoved the covers aside and lowered her feet to the floor. A chill raced up her
legs, and when she shivered, the giraffes on her pajamas appeared to be nodding.

That’s right. Fight for him, Grace
,
the giraffes said.
Use everything you’ve got.

If only she could find a way to cast
a feminine spell over Rory. Make him take notice, go away with memories of her
that lingered and grew during the long months, so that when he returned, he’d
rush home to her from the airport.

Vegas. Her wedding shower
.
A blush heated Grace’s skin as she imagined herself in the skimpy clothes, but
she welcomed how the sensation eased the arctic temperatures in the room.

That’s the answer
.
Grace smiled down at the giraffes. She would stop fighting against loving Rory.
She would embrace her tender emotions, and she knew exactly how to make him
remember her while he was away.

* * * *

Rory stretched under the blankets and
raked his hands through his hair. Snow had started falling at two in the
morning, shortly before he gave up roaming the streets of Manhattan. He ought to
have known better than to go to sleep with wet hair and muscles numb with cold.
Catching a chill was something he couldn’t afford.

He glanced at the watch on his left
wrist, saw it was almost ten. His brows drew together as his eyes strayed to the
gold band that circled his wedding finger. The wind howled outside. The sound
sent a cold shiver over him. The weather reflected his dark mood, the mental
battle between his unexpected feelings for Grace, and the fear that made him
want to keep away from her.

Awareness arose inside him, a sense
of being alone in the apartment. Somewhere in his subconscious, he recalled a
slam of the front door. A soft slam. Controlled, in order not to disturb him.
But a slam nonetheless, since a forceful pull was required to shut the door,
which caught against the frame at the top.

He threw the covers aside and bolted
up, the muscles on his bare chest bracing against the cold, the soft drawstring
pants riding low on his hips. On the parquet floor, his sweater and jeans
tangled in a forlorn heap. He jumped over them and yanked the door open, hard
enough to nearly break the handle.

“Grace!” he shouted, unable to
control the fear that hurtled inside him, like a stone rattles inside an empty
steel drum. The thought that she had gone, wouldn’t be around to tell him
goodbye, filled him with a terror that surpassed anything he’d ever experienced
in the battlefield.

He tore through the hall, flung her
door open after only a cursory knock. A neatly made bed tightened the grip of
panic inside him. A photograph in a silver frame stood on the nightstand, next
to an old-fashioned alarm clock. He snatched up the picture. A middle-aged
couple stood beside a tree full of pink blossoms, in front of a temple with a
pair of stone dragons flanking the entrance. He could tell that Grace had
inherited her height and features from her father, and the delicate skin and
pale eyes from her mother.

Rory returned the silver frame on the
table, his body tense. In his mind, windows into the life he’d left behind ten
years ago creaked ajar. Yanking his thoughts back to the present, he hurried
into the kitchen, found a sheet of paper tacked to the refrigerator with a Miss
Piggy door magnet.

Had to go out. Back by 3 pm
.

No signature, no heading. As if
posting casual messages to each other was routine between them. Rory unclipped
the magnet, but instead of crunching up the note and throwing it in the trash,
he folded the piece of paper and carried it back into his room, where he slipped
it inside his laptop bag.

With efficient movements, he stripped
naked and entered the shower. While the hot water cascaded over his aching
muscles, he dwelled upon the plan that had sprung to life as he allowed himself
a glimpse into his past. He toweled his skin dry, dressed in the smartest
clothes he could find, and made a few telephone calls. Then he wrapped up
against the cold and set out to pay a visit to Mayfield Investments on Wall
Street.

The freezing air filled his lungs and
billowed out again in a white cloud. Fresh snow crunched beneath his feet,
distracting his troubled mind. Ten years had passed since he last saw his
parents. How would they look now? Had they aged well? Had his father grown
jowly? Did grey streaks line his mother’s auburn hair? Would bitterness mark
their faces if some trick of fate sent him across their paths here in the city?

Rory gritted his teeth and banished
the thoughts. This was not about his family, but about Grace. He didn’t have
much to offer her, but he had the means to protect her future, and he saw no
reason not to follow the impulse that had seized his mind.