Just Joe (13 page)

"Just Joe. Only
touching you. Oh, God, come back to me... sweetheart...."

"Joe?" Mattie's
voice was weak, as her eyes finally began to focus on the present again.

Joe drew a deep, shaky
breath and rocked back on his heels. "Oh Lord, you scared me there,
sweetheart. Don't do that to me again."

Mattie didn't even hear
the fear in his shaky plea.

"You were touching
me." The words were flat as Mat-tie's eyes were drawn blindly to the fire.
She concentrated on the soft hush of the flames as they lapped against the wood
and tried to block out Joe's unsteady breathing behind her.

"I would never hurt
you, Mattie," Joe repeated hollowly, rubbing his eyes. "I wasn't
trying to hurt you."

Mattie wrapped her arms
tightly around her updrawn knees and began to rock her body protectively.

Mattie nodded her head
wearily, acknowledging the truth of what he said. "I—I'm sorry
I...panicked. I don't know why."

"Don't you?"

Mattie's eyes raced to his
as she recognized the gentle dissent in his rough tone. Dear God, what did he
know?

"Joe—"

But Joe did not let her
finish whatever denial or diversion she was attempting.

"You know, Mattie,
ever since we met, I've had this nagging feeling of,..recognition. I could
never quite figure out what it was, but I know now. It's not your face, or your
smile, or the way you walk. It's your eyes,- the expression you try to hide in
them. The fear, the pain, the wariness. That's what I've seen before." Joe
exhaled carefully. "In Janie's eyes."

Mattie flinched as if he
had slapped her with the words, and her stiff face whitened in the firelight.
Joe's own eyes closed in mute agony.

It was true, he accepted
with a silent, overwhelming pain. His beautiful, proud Mattie... The hurt that
raced through him was almost paralyzing in its intensity. No rage, not yet.
Only the unbearable knowledge of what she had suffered, and he allowed that
pain to consume him totally. Now he understood the fear of physical closeness,
the wary evasions, the silent terror. The knowledge had been building within
him for a long time, but seeing her dragging herself across the floor, trying
to hide from him exactly as Janie had done...

Mattie slumped in defeat,
her forehead falling to rest on her drawn-up knees as the memories overtook her
and the silence lengthened. A fine trembling that had nothing to do with cold
shook her. She would have to tell him now. He had a right to know who and what
he had befriended. And now she would lose him, too.

Joe watched her tremble
and ached to touch her, to drive the fear away, but he knew that he could not,
knew finally how much a part of her it was. His throat tightened painfully as
he watched her head rise slowly, her eyes wide and glittering with tears she
refused to let fall.

When she spoke, her voice
was soft and rusty with pain. "My parents deserted me when I was three.
They were young.. .they divorced." Her mouth twisted, but it was not a
smile. "They 'loved' me too much to drag me down with them, I was told.
But not enough to give me up for adoption." This was obviously a pain she
had dealt with and accepted long ago. "I grew up in foster homes. No one
kept me for long—just long enough to do their duty by me. Oh yes, they all did
their duty—and collected their money. Until I was
eleven...twelve...thirteen..." Her voice drifted off, her eyes hard and
impenetrable.

A part of Joe wanted to
scream at her to stop, not to torture herself this way, but the best part of
him knew that they both had to hear the words if they would ever be free of the
past. His hands clenched into fists and a muscle kicked to life in his jaw as
she continued in that quiet, curiously emotionless tone.

"When I was eleven,
they placed me in anew home. A man and his wife. She was very sick, I think.
She hardly ever spoke. It was like she was.. .waiting to die. I was only
eleven—it took me a while to understand that it was because of
him.
It
was all because of him. He was very big...

He used to t-touch
me___" Mattie stuttered badly, her throat tight and aching. "He
h-hurt me___"

Joe's soft moan was that
of an animal in pain, but Mat-tie was deaf to the sound, blind to him, lost in
the past.

"I ran away, but they
always took me back.. .to him. And he always punished me." Silence. A
horrible yawning,
remembering
silence, and something inside of Joe ached
for the child she had been. "She died when I was thirteen. They took me
away then." Her eyes were blank, empty. "But I think they forgot a
part of me. I think there was something he took that they couldn't get back.
 
I've never been whole since then."

The tears had slipped from
her smoky eyes now, silent and warm as they drifted down her hollow cheeks. No
sobs shook her, no cries escaped, but the tears spoke of such deep pain that
Joe winced.

His own eyes were burning
with tears for the child who had been so abused. There was no doubt in his mind
what she was trying to tell him. He understood exactly what it was she had
talked so carefully about. Mattie had been sexually and emotionally molested at
the ages of eleven... twelve... thirteen. His gallant Mattie had suffered more
pain and degradation than any person should ever have to bear. His beautiful,
brave Mattie had been left with nightmares and scars across her soul that might
never heal.

"He used to call me
Matilda. That's why I hate the name so much." His voice echoed in her head
and she whimpered in pain. "Hold still, Matilda. You'll love this,
Matilda. I love you, Matilda."

Joe's control broke and
rage overtook him. It burned in him to the same fiery depths his pain had
carved. His body shook with it, his voice trembled with it.

"Why didn't you tell
anyone?"

Mattie heard the
despairing question, but it did not seem to touch her. Joe's hands closed
gently over her upper arms, forcing her limp, pliant body to respond to him.

"Why didn't you tell
anyone?" he demanded again, his face twisted with pain.

Mattie answered
lifelessly, obscurely. "All those years I spent alone, without a
family...I used to dream that someday, somebody would love me."

Joe immediately understood
what that bleak little voice was telling him. "No. Oh, no, Mattie. That
wasn't love." He shook her urgently, emphasizing what he said.
"Mat-tie, that wasn't love."

"He said it
was," Mattie told him stonily, not meeting his eyes. "He said he
loved me."

"No, Mattie. He was
sick. He hurt you. Love doesn't hurt like that. We talked about it, remember? A
man would never hurt the woman he loves. Remember?"

"I remember."

"And he hurt
you," Joe persisted grimly.

"Y-yes."

"So he didn't love
you," Joe insisted intently.

"He said he did. He
said that's why he t-touched me. That touching was the price I had to pay for
being.. .loved."

"Dammit, get it
through your head that love is not like that!" Joe's tone was hard and
driven, and Mattie seemed to shrink into herself.

"You're angry,"
she said flatly.

"Hell, yes, I'm
angry!" Joe exploded in pain and frustration, his eyes fierce.

Mattie wretched herself
from his hold, her face crumbling. "It wasn't my fault," she cried
pitifully as the sobs finally came, racking her slender body with a force that
frightened Joe. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't want him to.. .I hated
him!"

"Mattie! Oh,
Mattie," Joe whispered brokenly, afraid to reach for her. "I know it
wasn't your fault. I know. You were a child, an innocent child. Oh God, Mattie,
let me hold you," he begged helplessly, his eyes burning. "Please let
me hold you—"

Joe knew what he was
asking of her. More important, Mattie knew that he was asking her to put aside
the nightmare of what that man had done and turn to another man for comfort,
which was a frightening move. She had lived alone with the memories for so long
they had become a part of her. Now Joe was asking her to share that part of her
with him. Joe, she thought achingly. Her best friend, Joe. She didn't hesitate,
throwing herself into his pleading arms and burying her tear-stained face
against his throat.

"Thank God," Joe
whispered tightly, pressing a gentle, soothing kiss to Mattie's temple.
"Mattie, cry.. .let the tears heal you. I'm here to hold you, to keep you
safe. I'll always be here for you."

Mattie barely heard the
soothing words or felt the desperate, consoling kisses he pressed to her
burning face. She only knew that finally she had shared the pain and she could
feel the poison seeping from the wound. She would always bear the scars, but
maybe now, because of Joe, she could begin to heal.

They stayed like that for
a long time, clinging tightly to each other as the dawn began to break on the
horizon. Sometimes they spoke, and sometimes they were silent. But even in the
silence, an almost tangible wave of communication flowed between them.

"You were touching
me," Mattie's voice was husky with confusion as it rose from his shoulder
where her face was buried.

Joe smoothed a careful
hand over her short dark hair and searched for a defense to the accusation in
those four simple words. He could hardly tell-her about the need, the hunger,
the love he felt, when in Mattie's mind those words, those emotions were only a
prelude to violation. He could hardly claim friendship, when she must have felt
his body trembling with the uncontrolled desire he felt with her in his arms.

"I didn't mean to
frighten you," he finally evaded quietly.

"There—there's not a
price for friendship, too, is there, Joe?" Mattie's uncertain and
frightened tone clawed into Joe's heart like razor sharp talons.

"No." He
swallowed tightly and pressed his lips into her wavy tresses. "No price
for friendship."

Mattie sighed and drifted
to the edges of sleep.

Joe tightened his hold and
stared into the darkness for a long, long time.

When Joe awoke a few hours
later, Mattie was still in his arms. Her quiet, shallow breaths brushed against
the warm cord of his throat like the most evocative caress, and her head
nestled trustingly against his shoulder. He shifted carefully to study her
sleeping form.

She was so pretty! She
looked so fragile asleep and vulnerable in his arms. But now he knew that there
was nothing fragile about Mattie Grey. Something hurt and lost and sad, but
never fragile or insubstantial. She had survived a nightmare and somehow found
an inner strength to carry her through the memories. Maybe she had lost a part
of herself, as she had told him so desparingly last night. He wondered if she
understood that she had found something, too.

Easing carefully out of
the chair, Joe left Mattie still sleeping. They had spent all of the night
holding each other, talking and giving comfort, but he didn't want her to be
frightened, waking up in a man's arms.

He stumbled to the
kitchen, wryly rubbing the morning stubble on his face. He probably looked like
a renegade pirate. Mattie would have run screaming out the door, waking up to
him. After putting some coffee on to brew, Joe crossed to the back door to
check on the weather.

The freezing rain had
stopped, he noted with relief, and the sun was out. The silver drops of melting
ice were proof that the thaw had set in. They should be able to leave today.

"Good morning."

Joe drew a steadying
breath and turned to face Mattie.

"Good morning."

She looked tired, he
thought in concern. Tired and pale. And seemed more than a little uncertain as
she hovered awkwardly in the doorway.

"I made some
coffee." He crossed to the counter to pour two cups.

"Oh, no."

Joe turned to face Mattie,
wounded. "What's wrong with my coffee?"

Mattie answered weakly but
good-humoredly. "Other than the fact that it could be used to pave a
driveway?"

"Just because your
coffee wouldn't kill a petunia—" Joe began defensively.

"It's a good thing,
then, isn't it," she said sweetly, "that I've never had a desire to
kill a petunia with my coffee?"