The Wall (22 page)

and signed her name on the dotted line. She was committed.

If either Barry or Elise noticed that she was unusually quiet during

supper, they didn't say anything. She saw Elise's quick sharp eyes on

the untouched food on her plate, and noticed that the other woman

was being especially kind to her. Probably Elise just thought it was

because she was feeling poorly. Sara wished she could believe that

herself. Barry drove her home, and she appreciated his concern. She

knew he thought she wasn't acting normally, but what was normal,

after all? Her feelings and affections had undergone such a dramatic

change in the past several days that she wasn't sure if she was in

touch with herself at all, or if a total stranger had taken control of her

body.

She fingered her baby grand piano in the darkness, back at her

apartment. She loved Greg; there was no doubt about that. But the

essence of her personality was in her music; she prayed he would

understand that. She fervently hoped that things could be worked out,

and yet she felt such a dread, a premonition. Looking out over the

bright garish lights of downtown Los Angeles, she saw balmy

sunshine on a deserted beach.

She felt like she was being torn in two.

Shivers racked her body, and she crept into bed like a lost child alone

in a tossing sea.

She overslept in the morning, and when she looked at her bedside

clock, shock rippled through her. Her plane flight was in an hour and

a half. Sara made to jump out of bed, and she fell back sweating and

weak on soaked sheets. The room danced crazily around in front of

her blurred eyes, and this seemed so funny to her that she giggled a

little before catching herself up sharply. This wasn't a time for

hysterical humour.

With some effort, she managed to get to the bathroom and use the

facilities, but it left her weak and shaking, feeling as if she had just

run a marathon race. She groped for the thermometer very carefully,

but ended up knocking several things on to the floor anyway. She

was beginning to get alarmed; she couldn't remember the last time

she'd felt so sick.

Bad news confronted her at the sight of the mercury reading, and she

groaned softly. Her fever was sky-high, accounting for the weakness

and distortion of space. Her fingers on her cheek felt papery dry, and

her cheeks were burning up.

Sara thought of Greg, and his reaction when he had thought she was

leaving and not coming back. Her thought processes weren't working

very well at the moment, and the only thing she could think of was

getting back to him, and being held in his strong and gentle arms.

He was safety. He was home. She didn't think of anything else but

this. She didn't care about the future and she couldn't think of the

conflicts that had troubled her last night. They had faded away with

the night's darkness, and her brow furrowed with the effort to recall

her reasons for her own anxieties.

It didn't matter; there was no time. She took four aspirins and

swallowed them without a second thought. That should help her get

through the next couple of hours; it had seemed to bring down her

fever last night. Then she dressed in faded jeans and a plain blouse,

pulling her glossy hair back into a ruthlessly tight ponytail. Her face

no longer swam in the mirror, and she hoped this was a good sign.

She did no more than glance at herself, though, and it wasn't a pretty

sight. The area around her eyes felt tight and drawn, and there was a

slight yellowish tinge to her usually healthy- looking skin. The blue

shadows underneath her eyes now looked like bruises, and her lips

were cracked and dry.

She stuffed a few things carelessly into her overnight bag and swept

up her handbag. A quick call to the cab agency she used frequently

ensured her a ride to the airport, and after a very short wait, she was

climbing into the back of a battered car. The cabby was cheerful and

talkative, and Sara fought the urge to scream at him to shut up, all the

way. The trip was around half an hour long.

Her shirt was sticking to her back when she finally got out of the cab.

The heat was intense, unseasonally so, and it hit her already

overheated body in overwhelming waves. The pulse at her wrists and

throat pounded painfully. With great concentration, she weaved her

way through the bustling crowds. It seemed to take forever, but she

was finally boarded and sinking into her spacious first class seat.

She dozed fitfully for the whole flight, refusing all food and sipping

listlessly at the proffered drinks. As she stared with lacklustre eyes

out of her window at the sunny, cheerful landscape, it suddenly

occurred to her that she hadn't really eaten for a good twenty-four

hours. Her last meal had been with Greg, yesterday, at lunch, and she

had been so tied up in emotional knots that she hadn't been able to eat

very much. She hadn't eaten anything last night. It seemed odd to her

that she wasn't even hungry after such a time, then the thought just

slid away. She was wrapped in cotton wool, and the rest of the world

didn't matter any more.

Someone shook her gently by the shoulder and she opened huge dull

eyes to stare at the kind concerned face of the young stewardess who

had attended her on the flight. 'We're about to land, miss,' she was

told firmly. 'You've got to fasten your safety belt.'

Her fingers fumbled to do so, and the young woman suddenly sat

down in the empty seat beside her. 'You don't look very well,' she

said suddenly, touching Sara's forehead with a tentative finger.

'You're burning up! Are you going to be all right?'

Sara smiled briefly, wanly. 'I will be, sooner or later. I had to get

home, and couldn't afford to miss the flight, but I've got someone

meeting me at the airport.'

The other woman hesitated. 'Well, it's good that you're going to be

met, but I think I'll stay close by, just in case. Frankly, you don't even

look like you could stand up! I think I'll just keep you company until

your friend arrives.'

'Please don't feel you have to,' Sara attempted to demur, but much to

her secret relief, the young attendant insisted.

The descent of the plane had her head spinning around and around,

and it never really stopped spinning, even after all the motion had

ceased and she was standing along with the other passengers in

preparation for disembarkment. The nice young stewardess had to

take care of several things, but when Sara carefully walked to the exit

of the plane, she found the girl right along beside her. She really was

very nice, Sara concluded fuzzily. She was obviously concerned and

caring, and she made it known in the most tactful way. Sara could

feel her watching and assessing her, and she knew that the other girl

was wondering if she would have the strength to disembark, but she

never so much as touched her arm. The stewardess stayed close by,

though, and kept up an undemanding chatter.

The grey tiles on the floor kept moving in the oddest way, but with

the knowledge that it was all her imagination and that the floor wasn't

really moving at all, Sara was able to present the appearance of

normality as she walked with the stewardess through the airport. It

was much smaller than the international one in Los Angeles, and less

crowded, but Sara was much weaker and just about at the end of her

strength.

She had never really taken to travelling, and was never at her best on

trips, and this second flight in as many days, on top of her high fever,

had sapped all her energy. She felt her heart pound and her ears ring

and she thought with a lurch, I'm going to faint, for the first time in

my life. The walls receded in the most peculiar way, and she

concentrated fiercely on staying conscious. It worked for a few

moments. She was unaware of having stopped moving and that she

was standing right in the middle of a busy wide hallway full of

moving people. All she could think of was how ridiculously

inappropriate it would be if she were to make like wet spaghetti all

over the floor in front of so many people.

A voice called her name, 'Sara! Sara, what is it?' and she saw Greg

coming to her, a frown on his face. She blinked huge tired eyes, and

they filled with tears as she looked at him. His face blurred away. He

was angry, but really she couldn't help being ill. She was trying her

very best not to be.

The voices of the stewardess and Greg passed her by, and she knew

they were talking to her, but she couldn't hear what they were saying,

because that rushing sound was roaring in her ears again and the

walls were sliding back—really, that was very bizarre! She couldn't

remember any other building that did that. She felt so very awful that

she took in a funny little breath and tried to tell Greg, 'I feel quite ill,'

but all she heard was a far-off whimper as the darkness came in on a

high tide. It all just slipped away.

All she wanted was to be held and to be loved, and she hurt so badly,

all over her body. It made large tears slip from her closed eyelids, she

felt so lonely and sick. Someone murmured, and she was picked up

gently and carried into a building. At that, some of her senses seemed

to become abnormally sharp, and she recognised every stick of

furniture that they passed as Greg carried her into his house. It was

all very strange. She stared foggily about, realised what must have

happened at the airport, and she suddenly felt very frustrated and

angry at the whole world. She hated being ill, like every healthy

individual does, and she was a terrible patient.

'Put me down, dammit, I can walk,' she muttered weakly, irately, and

felt Greg's chest heave as he laughed under his breath.

'Ah, don't tell me you're one of those kind of invalids. I can see I'm in

for quite a time,' he sighed deeply, and Sara felt an upsurgence of

resentment.
He
was in for quite a time!
She
was the one who was ill!

He laid her down carefully, but she still couldn't quite control her

wince. For some odd reason she felt as if someone had taken a

sledgehammer to every part of her body, and then taken a truck to run

over what was left. A quick blurry glance showed that he had put her

in his bed, and she felt careful hands at her blouse buttons. He

disappeared, and came back to draw a nightgown over her head. Her

body burned with aching heat, and yet she started to shiver with a

bone-clattering chill. With teeth chattering so that she could hardly

talk, she tried to tell him just how badly she needed a drink, but she

couldn't seem to get her words out right. Greg apparently understood,

though, for he brought her a steaming cup of tea almost immediately.

When that didn't warm her up, her brought her a few filled hot water

bottles and tucked them in at her feet. She lay curled up as tightly as

she could, shivering and shaking and nearly crying, she was so cold.

Her joints hurt so that she needed to move them restlessly to provide

relief, yet she could barely stand to uncurl. Greg frowned down at her

miserable attitude, then pulled back the covers. At that, she cried out

in protest, but she soon saw that he meant to get into bed with her. He

drew her near and tucked her icy hands into his open shirt to get them

next to his warm skin. She sighed from pleasure at that. Eventually,

his body warmth and the hot water bottles thawed her out enough so

that her muscles could relax, and she fell asleep, held tightly in his

arms, his cheek hard against her hot forehead.

She opened her eyes much later to find herself alone. She hurt, just

ached all over, and her skin felt like a furnace. She was so hot, just

intensely burning up, that she threw off the covers with a moan and

tried to stand. The cool air hitting her skin felt so good that she went

to the window and fumbled to unfasten it, intending to throw it wide

open.

A noise sounded behind her and a deep exasperated voice seemed to

boom out in the confines of the room. 'My God, I leave you for

barely ten minutes and you're trying to kill yourself!' She could

hardly stand the loud noise, and covered her ears with a whimper.

'Do you want to catch pneumonia, Sara? Come on, get back in bed

and cover up. Please!'