The Value of Vulnerability (40 page)

Her sisters grimaced sympathetically at her.

She sighed resignedly and regained her seat. She had expected this eventually.

Her mother sat beside her on the step, patting her knee reassuringly. “Don’t sigh at me, young lady. I want to talk to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“This young man you’ve been seeing. Ford. How is that going?”

She shrugged. “A lot of it’s good. Just . . .” She shrugged again.

“This
is
the same man who prompted the serial-killer conversation over Christmas dinner?”

“Uh huh. He’s not.
He’s a bit—okay, he’s really guarded. Did I tell you I met his mom?”

“No. What is she like?”

“She makes Mommy Dearest look like Mother Theresa.”

“Erin!”

“No, I’m serious. In fact, I’m being kind. Our entire conversation revolved around how she could hurt Ford. Though given a choice, she would hurt his father first.”

“Have you met his father?”

“No.” And hadn’t broached a conversation with Ford about his father’s illness. So many barriers—why introduce a new one? “I gather he’s no prize, either.”

“But Ford—he’s a nice boy?”

Erin spluttered. “No, Mom. He’s not a boy. And even on his best days, he’s not nice. Not the way you mean. But he has some great qualities and, for the most part, is very good to me.”

Mrs. Russell’s tone hardened. “How is he
not
good to you?”

“No, no. Nothing bad.” How did one explain Ford? “He’s just . . . hard to get to know.”

“Hm.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Then:

“Erin, you have many virtues. Unfortunately, two of those have serious downsides. First, you are resilient. More resilient than anyone else I know. Second, you have an enormous capacity to forgive.”

“Downsides being?”

“You forgive anything because it costs you nothing to do so. And you know you’ll bounce back from being hurt.”

She was getting a bit tired of people implying that she was impervious to pain.
“I don’t know that I
know
that for certain.”

“It took less than a year for you to pull together all the pieces after Anthony’s—” Mrs. Russell waved her hand. “I hear you refer to him as an ex-boyfriend. Never your ex-fiancé.”

“Well, no point underscoring that.”

“You don’t complain about him. About what happened. Most people would.”

“So, he cheated on me. People cheat. And I was messed up about it for quite a while.”

Her mother laughed. “You caught him cheating three weeks before the wedding, Erin. The man you were going to marry. When it first happened, you
were
a mess—tears and anger and all the appropriate responses. That lasted a week. Then, you withdrew for some months, and yes, maybe we worried somewhat, but mostly we missed you. But then you got it together. And here you are, involved seriously with a man who doesn’t seem to be the easiest sort to get along with. That you can trust someone again isn’t because what happened with Anthony was
minor
. It’s because you,” she gestured helplessly. “Bounce back. That, my girl, is resilience.”

“I guess. But it’s a good thing.”

“Combined with forgiveness, it can be a bad thing. Cyclical. If someone takes advantage.”

“Yeah, okay. I get it.”

“What’s the status of your relationship with Ford?”

She sighed, unable to prevent it. “He’s asked me to move in with him.”

Mrs. Russell cleared her throat. “Not being judgmental, honey, but that’s insane.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“You’ve been seeing him for months and not one of your friends or family have met him.”

“He’s been busy.”

“Sounds like the same excuse you were using while avoiding us last year.”

“Hells.”

“Our disapproval won’t stop you from doing as you want.
Is
it what you want?”

“Yes and no.” She plucked at a loose thread on her worn jeans. “I love him like mad. I want a future with him, and even though he pretty much said at the outset that permanent was off the table, this offer suggests he’s thinking differently now.”

“Smart women do
not
waste time trying to figure out the complete enigmas that men are. Don’t worry about what he’s thinking. Be clear in your own head first, and make your decisions from there.” She looked at the lowering sun. “He has much to recommend him, I suppose. Good name, good family—well, you know what I mean.”

“Sure. If Stalin had babies with Charles Manson, they’d be much like Ford’s parents.”

“Nice.” Mrs. Russell chuckled. “And Ford’s able to support you? Financially?”

“Well, other than the fact I can support myself, he could probably afford to support several dozen of me. But I’d be with him if he lived in a cardboard box.”

“I hope not!” Mrs. Russell grimaced. “We make extravagant statements like that, keeping mental fingers crossed we won’t have to live up to them.”

“I
mean
it.”

“Certainly. I also mean it when I say I love you more than I love chocolate. But I don’t want to have to prove it.”

She laughed outright. “Well, thanks, Mom.”

“But you don’t really mean it. If he lived in a cardboard box, he would likely be one of two things: terribly ill or desperately poor. So either way, you would help him. And get him out of the box.
Then
you would be with him. Maybe. But likely as not, as the man you’re in love with is not the sort who would ever live in a cardboard box.”

“Okay. I get it. Ease up, Mom! You’re ridiculously literal.”

This earned a righteous nod that made her laugh again, though shakily.

“So,” Mrs. Russell went on. “He can support you if necessary. He’s a decent man who respects you. And you love him. The only question worth asking then is: Does he love you?”

She shook her head, a few tears escaping.

“Shh, darling,” her mother soothed. Tucking Erin’s head into the safety of her shoulder, she petted her daughter’s hair with light strokes. “I’d really like to criticise the man who is not falling all over himself in love with my beautiful daughter, but I don’t think that’ll help right now,” she said. “You’re hoping against hope that moving in with him will bring him into your life, that by loving him and showing him the love surrounding you, he will come around.”

“Yes. And to show him that being damaged doesn’t mean the end of everything. That there are better ways of dealing with hurt than holding onto it.”
Holding grudges. Meting out revenge.

“It’s brave and foolish of you, tempting a world of hurt. Your other option is to walk away.”

“The brave and smart option?” she suggested, sniffing a little.

“Yes. I recommend it.” She sighed. “You’re too old to have your mother telling you what to do, and I’m not giving you any ultimatums. But with all my heart, I’m saying not to do it.”

“And if I do?”

“Well, then, we’ll support you every way we know how. Whatever your decision, I trust you to make it for love. I can’t ask for anything more.” She tugged on a golden strand of Erin’s hair. “On second thought, here’s what else I ask: use your head, too. Be loving
and
smart.”

It was good advice, though she was uncertain how to apply such wise balance.

Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around her mother. “Thank you. I love you, Mom. More than salt-and-vinegar chips.”

“I love you, too, Little Ray of Sunshine. Now, let’s go have lunch, hm?”

She was a lucky woman, she knew, to have this life, unscarred and uncomplicated. They were a rare breed, this family of hers. She didn’t take them for granted. Well, maybe a bit through the natural angst of teenaged years. But as she grew up and learned more of the world, she discovered that being unscathed by life was a rarity, nearly anomalous with going outside one’s door. Most people had complicated relationships with their families, and family didn’t guarantee support or a safe haven when one’s world collapsed.

When Anthony cheated, she turned automatically to her family without fear of censure or condemnation. After Joe’s assault, she had not needed counselling, as her family were her counsellors. With all of her many hurts—from abusive grandmother to failed relationships to myriad life disappointments—she had succour here.

Yes, she was a lucky woman.

She could not hold everything at bay any longer. If she couldn’t break through to Ford, she would have to end it. Her sense of self was at stake.

***

The evening air was cold, but with the promised softness of spring behind it when Ford collected Erin in his car. He recalled with nostalgic amusement the first time he had done so, soon after she had said she was under the impression that he didn’t know how to drive since he always used the limo.

“Are you disappointed?” he had asked.

“The Ferrari will do,” she had returned, with lofty boredom, and proceeded to hop up and down in delighted excitement, making him laugh.

But tonight—he knew that something had changed the instant he saw her. Though she appeared the same on the surface, her direct hazel gaze had gained shadows of both irritation and determination, and he knew she had arrived at a crux.

Erin Russell was going to demand something of Ford Howard that he was not prepared to give.

He closed his mind to it with some success, enough to get through their evening out with his friends. After dinner, a still quiet settled between them. He took her to his home, hoping to stave off the end by putting her on his territory rather than her own.

Home court advantage was all his.

It still intrigued him that life washed over her leaving such little evidence, eroding nothing. She retained that sunny disposition even when annoyed. She was complex without being unfathomable. Her ability to forgive trespasses was staggering. She was strong without being hard, and a leader who did not try to control.

And easygoing without being a pushover. She was not going to stand his aloofness any longer.

The veil on his future had lifted almost completely. The time spent with her had raised the curtain enough for him to see the path he walked. He could maintain the status quo or be broken on the rocks of another failure.

His great plan had failed. Of course it had. She was far too intelligent and sensitive to be tricked into thinking everything was perfect in the relationship he mapped out for them—warm affection surrounding fun and games, punctuated with a steady diet of the most fantastic sex of his life. Asking her to move in was just the next—but final—phase, keeping
her close without capitulating. A desperate attempt to balance the ledger on a relationship wherein she provided all the items of value.

Losing himself in her—it held a powerful attraction. What he had once felt for Diane was shallow by comparison, the callow yearnings of a young man who had never been properly loved.

In the event Erin showed false, however, if surrender were unilateral . . .

He daren’t risk it. Even if it meant losing her, it was better than losing himself.

It was difficult to entertain all the possible benefits of a real relationship when imagining the possible scenario of being before her with all veneer stripped away, at her mercy. If she proved merciless, he would be devastated, for how did one recover when complete surrender was betrayed? He would be shattered. He could retrofit the pieces, but having done so, so often, another go-round would leave only a shell, begging to be filled with anger and bitterness.

More of the same.

But at least now, he controlled it. Retained his sense of self underneath it all.

The worst part of surrendering to her would be the full revelation of who he was and the things he had done. Allowing her to see him in full would kill any feelings she had for him.

He daren’t risk that either.

***

She could barely breathe.

That was not strictly true, for she was gasping, huffing like a freight train, filling her lungs with the scent of him as her orgasm scuttled through her in broken ripples, intense in its longevity rather than its vigour.

But the crushing reality of what she must do lay on her chest like an anvil, sparking hints of claustrophobia that she fought as she wrapped herself around him, scattering loving kisses over his face and neck, pressing her lips finally over the place where his heart thudded with heavy rapidity in his chest.

Let me in.

They lay together, immersed in each other as if there were not this terrible issue hanging over them. She almost wished she had the temperament to carry on like this forever.

“Hungry?” Ford murmured in her ear. Dinner had been hours before and she had not eaten much. He must have noticed.

“Thirsty, mostly,” she smiled wanly.

He sat up, pulling her with him. “Let’s fix that.”