Raphaela's Gift (11 page)

"She's looking at me more. And she touched me, all on her own. It was the most wonderful thing!" Marian looked at him, an odd smile on her face. "Listen to me, raving about a simple touch on the arm." She paused, waiting for him to respond, no doubt to affirm her hope. "It is something, isn't it?"

He returned her smile. Why deny the truth? "Yes, it is."

"I wonder…" she began. But something in her throat choked off the words.

He silently nodded his head and waited for her to rein in her emotions like she had done throughout their marriage, stifle the anguish simmering under the surface of her hardened façade. She didn't cry. She wouldn't. The only time he had ever seen her display such weakness was on that day three years ago. That God-awful day he would never forget.

"I wonder if I'm responsible for this, somehow," Marian confessed.

Her statement confused him. "For what?"

"Ella. Maybe it's my fault. God punishes his children for doing wrong."

Since when had Marian become religious? And why would God punish Raphaela for Marian's sins? "No, Marian. I mean, I'm not a saint or anything, but I know God would not do this as some sort of punishment to you. He wouldn't punish Ella. She doesn't deserve that."

Marian clawed the sand, her acrylic nails digging deep gouges in its surface, the red nail polish flaking. "I committed adultery, Garret."

"Yes, you did. But that has nothing to do with Ella. Is that what this is all about--why you insisted on coming here?" He paused, an idea unfurling, revealing itself. "Is that why you've avoided her for three years?"

She returned her gaze to their daughter, who still sat in the water, enthralled by the concentric rings fanning from her immersed fingertip. The muscles of Marian's throat visibly clenched and unclenched as she swallowed. "Maybe."

"Well, she needs you. She needs her mother."

"I know," she whispered. "Can I ask you a question?"

He nodded, and then realized she wouldn't see it, since she was staring at Raphaela. "Sure."

"Would you really have taken me back? When you said you would in Tom's office? After everything with Michael?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't meant it." He waited, wondering which direction she was heading. He couldn't go back now.

She looked down, her hands wrist-deep in sand. "Is it too late now?"

God, why now? After all this time?
He'd struggled with the failure of their marriage for years, wishing she would change her mind, wanting a second chance, hating her for what she'd done. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked at Raphaela. Swallowing a lump of guilt, he said, "I'm so sorry. I can't. Not now." He looked at Marian.

She nodded. Golden shafts of sunlight cut through the overhead branches to set flames of deep auburn and copper in her hair. "I'm sorry too." Looking toward Raphaela once more, she stood and then turned from them both, walking back toward the lodge. "Good night, Garret."

He didn't look back as she brushed past him. "Good night, Marian."

The trees' shadows had grown long and gangly, the sun having found its way home to its cottony bed in the western sky. It whispered its final farewell in soft salmon pinks and lavenders. Garret stood and prepared to battle Raphaela. It was time for bed.

He had lived enough life for one day.

"Go ahead, open it," Steven said, smiling. His whole face lit as he nodded toward the little box he'd had the waiter serve to Faith as dessert.

Her heart in her throat, along with the dinner she'd just eaten, she glanced at the waiter's encouraging smile before picking up the little velvet box. She didn't want to open it. She didn't want to make a fool of Steven in the restaurant, with so many people watching, the waiter, neighboring diners.

"Oh, God, you shouldn't have."

"Would you just open it, damn it. The whole place is waiting," Steven said with a grin. "Please."

Faith closed her eyes, unable to meet Steven's eager gaze. She never would have guessed he'd do this. It had to be…The box top flipped open, and she hazarded a look at the glittering ring inside. A solitaire diamond. Nice size, much bigger than he could afford, set on a simple band.

"That's platinum. Like you wanted."

Those words clubbed her, and her head swam. "Oh, Steven…" She looked at him just in time to see him drop to one knee beside her.

He took her hand in his. "Before all of these witnesses, I would like to ask you for your hand in marriage. Will you make me the luckiest guy on earth by becoming my wife?"

Her throat burned, her gaze flitted from one stranger's face to the next, each one sporting a grin, each person waiting for her to say the magic word.

The room fell silent. It was as though the whole world awaited her answer. She opened her mouth, wanted to tell him "no", knowing it was the right thing to do. Nothing would come out. Nothing except her dinner, which was rushing up her throat faster than she wished.

She cupped her hand over her mouth and dashed to the bathroom, making it to the stall before the first of it left her body. And afterward, as she waited for her stomach to settle, she sat upon a bench in the frilly sitting room between the bathroom and the dining room and stared at the ring, still sitting in its box.

The facets caught the light of a lamp next to her, sending a spray of glittery stars over the wall.

An aged woman, white-haired and stooped, walked through, smiling gently at Faith as she passed. "What a pretty ring," the woman said as she peered over her glasses at it.

Faith nodded. "Yes, it is."

"That young man must love you a great deal to give you such a wonderful ring."

Faith glanced down at it. "Yes, I suppose he does. In his own sort of way."

"So why the glum face?"

"I don't love him," Faith admitted. And then, she smiled. She'd confessed to a woman she didn't know--a woman she'd never met before and would never see again--something so personal.

The woman sat next to Faith and patted Faith's knee. "That's okay, dear. If he loves you, that's all that matters. My dear Ernest, God rest his soul, loved me to the day he died, and I was the happiest woman on earth. If that man truly loves you, he'll cherish you. What more could you want?"

Faith glanced down at the woman's parchment-skinned hand, then up at her creased face. Her pale gray eyes sparkled with life, and Faith could almost see the pretty, young woman she'd once been.

"Go. Tell the young man you'll marry him. You won't regret it. I never did." The woman nudged her with an elbow. "Besides, that little rascal has a body any woman would die for." She winked.

"He set you up to this?"

"He didn't have to." It took the woman three attempts before she managed to stand, and each time she failed, she knocked away Faith's proffered hand. "I'll do it myself. I'm fully capable of standing on my own, thank you." Once she stood, she rested her crooked index finger under Faith's chin. "I hope you're happy. You're a doll. I can tell. You deserve to be happy."

Faith shook her head. "But--"

"Say yes. You can always think about it later," the woman interrupted.

"But I'd always dreamed of this moment, my husband being so much more. I wanted that special magic. An instant, irresistible bond. A man who could read my feelings in the way I walked, sensed fear or sadness in my voice. I wanted a man who encouraged me to grow, to learn, to be better than I thought I could be…" So much was missing from her relationship with Steven. Was saying "yes" fair? Was it good for either of them? What if Steven later resented her for it, when he realized she would never love him the way he loved her?

The woman took Faith's hand in hers and gently squeezed. "Those things are in the movies, dearie. They aren't real." She shook her head, peering at Faith over her silver-framed spectacles. "You young kids all want the fantasy. That's why you get divorced after a year or two. Aren't prepared for what love really is."

"And what is that?"

"Compromise, acceptance, and sacrifice. That's what love is."

Faith eased her hand free of the woman's gentle grasp and considered her words. She'd known love was more than a tingly belly and happily-ever-after. She'd never expected her future husband to be perfect or their marriage to be easy. But she had expected to know without a doubt that they were meant to be together.

That doubt had led to her frequent breakups with Steven in the past. Doubt nagged at her, kept her awake at night, spoiled holidays and anniversaries. She studied the woman's face, followed each line, read the wisdom in her eyes. Maybe she was being fanciful and unrealistic.

"At least let him keep his pride. He's got quite an audience out there," the woman said.

Faith, buried in a mountain of fear, doubt, and confusion, glanced toward the door. "He does, doesn't he?" She sighed. Perhaps the woman was right. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to accept Steven's proposal and then take her time thinking about it. At least he wouldn't be embarrassed. "All right. I'll do it. But if I decide later--"

"That-a-girl." The woman patted her back as she gave Faith a healthy shove toward the door. "Go make him happy for a day."

When Faith stepped from the sitting room, a rush of applause made her instantly flush. She turned back toward the ladies' room door, intent upon hiding there for the rest of the night, but the little woman stood there, blocking her retreat.

Resolved there was no easy way out, without hurting Steven's feelings, she walked toward where he stood and said one word, "Yes."

* * *

"Good morning," Faith said, studying Marian's posture as she shuffled into the studio. Today, Marian's carriage looked uncharacteristically slack, as though she lacked the strength to hold herself erect. "Has something happened?"

Still standing, Marian avoided Faith's gaze. "I don't know."

"That's okay. Today's session should help you get your hands around whatever is bothering you. If you want to talk about something else until then, that's fine." Faith smiled encouragingly.

Then she recalled what had happened the previous day. Did Garret tell her what happened yesterday afternoon?
He wouldn't!

Marian nodded, her attention focused on the windows.

Faith stood, suddenly jumpy. "I have an idea. Let's go on a 'field trip'."

Marian's lip quivered, and she finally looked at Faith. "Field trip?"

She's going to cry?
In all the months, Faith had counseled Marian, she'd never seen her cry before. Not sure what else to do, yet not feeling the least bit cheerful, Faith maintained her sunny mien. "Sure, a field trip would be great. You know, there is more to art than coloring and painting. We have access to a world of art supplies in the woods. I know the perfect spot. What do you say?"

"Okay." Marian didn't look particularly thrilled, but Faith would take quiet acquiescence. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Garret hadn't told Marian a thing. It probably had nothing to do with her at all. After spending last night toiling over her decision about Steven, her thoughts interrupted by memories of stolen moments with Garret, she didn't trust herself to be logical today.

She could test her theory. Faith reached a hand to Marian, but a chilly glare answered her gesture.

Marian was mad at her. "Do you want to talk about yesterday before we start?"

"What about yesterday?" Marian asked.

Surprised, Faith said, "I thought maybe--" but then she stopped herself. Why make things more awkward? Why dredge up something that wasn't bothering her client? She was being stupid, paranoid, probably from lack of sleep. "I thought maybe you wanted to tell me how your playroom session went with Raphaela."

"Oh. It went fine." Marian's voice was unconvincing.

Faith breathed a sigh of relief. With new energy and focus, she said, "All right, then. Shall we go?"

Marian nodded. Faith went to her closet to gather a few supplies, and after tossing them into a cardboard box, she led Marian into the damp morning. Behind the lodge, in the cool shade, sat a lopsided but sturdy picnic table. It was the perfect spot--quiet, as cool as she could get without air conditioning, and at the fringe of the woods, an excellent spot for gathering natural materials.

Marian glanced down at the attached bench, pitted and scarred by insects and birds, a scowl on her face. "Are you sure this thing is safe?"

"Absolutely."

She wrinkled her nose. "Look, there are ants all over it."

A chuckle crept up Faith's throat as she watched Marian shoo away the tiny creatures. Her client's hair, make-up, and clothing were flawless, as usual. It was hard for Faith to imagine Marian on the job.

When she'd learned Marian was a general contractor, she hadn't believed it. After all, who ever saw a fussy woman like Marian Damiani on a construction site? Acrylic nails, two-hundred dollar highlights and designer clothes. The pieces didn't fit.

Sometimes truth was stranger than fiction.

Marian sat at last and returned Faith's gaze. Marian's immaculately tweezed eyebrows lifted in expectation. "Now what? We're out in the heat, with bugs and other no-see-ums crawling up my shorts. I hope this is worth it."