With This Ring (22 page)

Oh, shit!
They were sleeping together. Lark knew it as surely as she knew her own name. Last night, after he'd taken Amy home, Justin had stayed on, and they had made love. The knowledge cut deep, hurting more than she would ever have believed possible. Oh, God, why? Why had she fallen in love with a man who loved her best friend? It was going to be a long and difficult evening, and she would have to call on every bit of acting talent she possessed to get through it.

Somehow she did. Somehow she managed to make it through two and a half hours of food and wine and conversation and having to watch Justin look at Amy with his heart and soul in his eyes.

When they were finally finished and on their way home, Lark was so relieved she could have cried.

Later, she did cry—hopeless tears that left her feeling drained and spent and miserable. When she finally stopped, she vowed that this was the last time she would ever cry over Justin. Or any man.

Still, she had a hard time sleeping, because she couldn't help worrying about the future. What was going to happen? Lark was certain no good could come of this new development, because despite the looks she'd given him tonight, Amy wasn't in love with Justin. She couldn't be. She was still mourning Sam. So why she'd gone to bed with Justin, Lark had no idea.

Just as Amy's involvement with Sam, this situation had all the potential for disaster. But this time, Lark was afraid Justin was the one who was going to get hurt.

After thinking about it most of the day Tuesday, she finally called and left a message on Amy's answering machine saying she'd like to come over and see her that night.

A little past four-thirty, Amy called back. "Sure. Come on over. You feel like Chinese take out? I'll order some."

"Sounds good."

At six o'clock Lark pulled into Amy's driveway. She had thought hard about what she should say and had decided to just be completely honest.

"I'm glad you came over," Amy said, hugging her. "We really didn't get a chance to talk last night."

Deciding they would wait awhile before ordering their food, Amy poured them each a glass of wine and they walked out to the living area. She curled up on one corner of the couch, and Lark sat on the other end.

Lark sipped at her wine. "Amy, I, um, noticed something last night."

"Oh?"

Was it Lark's imagination or did Amy's expression become just a little bit wary? "Something has changed between you and Justin, hasn't it?"

Amy's cheeks turned pink and she fiddled with a loose thread in her sweater. "Is . . . is it that obvious?"

"Maybe not to others, but I know you."

"Oh, God, Lark, do you think I'm terrible?" she said with a grimace.

"Why would I think you're terrible?"

Looking down into her glass, she murmured, "I don't know."

"No, I don't think you're terrible. I
am
a bit concerned, though."

"About me?"

"No. Not about you. About Justin."

Amy slowly lifted her eyes to meet Lark's gaze.

"You're not in love with him," Lark said.

"No." The word came out as little more than a whisper.

"And you know he's in love with you."

"Yes."

"Then why, Amy? Don't you think letting him make love to you is unfair? Look, I know you're still hurting. I know how much you've lost. But Justin has been a terrific friend to you. You don't want to hurt him, do you?"

"No, of course not!"

"But you will if you're not careful."

"I know all that, Lark. I do. But you don't understand. And I'm not sure I can explain it. Besides, he knows how I feel, and he's okay with it."

"He's
okay
with it?"

"Yes. He knows I'm not in love with him, but he says that doesn't matter."

"Oh, Amy, for God's sake! Of course, it matters!" It was on the tip of Lark's tongue to say,
don't you think you're being selfish?
when she stopped herself. Who was she to criticize or tell Amy what to do? And would she even feel this way if she wasn't in love with Justin herself? Wasn't she being pretty hard on Amy? After all, it wasn't Amy's fault that Justin had fallen in love with her.

"I
do
love him, Lark," Amy said, her eyes troubled. "He's a wonderful person."

"I know."

Amy looked away. When she spoke again, her voice was bleak. "Sam is gone. I've accepted that." She looked up again. "I don't want to be alone the rest of my life. And Justin makes me happy." This was said almost defiantly. "Is that so wrong?"

"No, not wrong, but—"

"But what?"

"What will you do if he asks you to marry him?"

Amy sighed deeply. "I don't know."

"You'd better think about it, because he will."

Amy nodded.

"If you don't think you can go through with it . . . marry him, that is . . . then it would be kinder to tell him the score now."

"I know."

"Because the longer you allow this . . .
situation
to continue," Lark went on relentlessly, "the harder it will be for him in the end. The harder it will be for
both
of you."

"I know," Amy said again.

"Besides, Amy, if, in your heart, you know you'll never marry him, what you're doing now is
using
him."

"Justin spent the evening with Amy again last night," Faith said on Saturday morning. She eyed the margarine regretfully and poured a small amount of lite syrup on her pancakes. She had been on a low fat diet for months, ever since her doctor had told her her cholesterol was too high, and she wasn't enjoying it.

"Hmm?" Alan said, not looking up from the sports page.

"Alan, are you listening to me?"

He finally lowered the paper. "I'm sorry, darling. What did you say?"

Faith repeated her observation, then added, "I see this as a good sign, don't you?"

"What? Amy's friendship with Justin?"

"Yes. He's in love with her, obviously."

"Is he?"

Faith rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you men can be so dense. Yes, of course, he's in love with her. Why you'd have to be blind not to see it. When they're together, he can't keep his eyes off her."

Alan helped himself to a couple more pancakes and liberally spread margarine over them. "He's a nice young man."

"Yes, he is. This would be a good thing for Amy. I only wish she and I could talk the way we used to. I'd encourage the relationship."

Alan's expression was sympathetic, although Faith knew he had disapproved of her attempt to dissuade Amy from marrying Sam. Alan believed Amy's choices were hers to make, and if they ended up being bad choices, so be it. "Everyone has to make their own mistakes," he'd said more times than Faith could count.

"Best to keep your nose out of this," he said now in a mild tone.

Faith nodded. Yes, she'd certainly learned her lesson. Amy's coolness to her since Sam's disappearance had abated somewhat, but they had a long way to go before they would recapture the closeness they'd once shared. "What I was hoping was that
you'd
talk to Amy."

"Me?" Alan said incredulously.

"Yes, you. She'd listen to you."

"Faith, you know perfectly well how I feel about this kind of thing. It's Amy's life. If she wants to be with Justin, that's her decision, not ours."

"Oh, Alan, for heaven's sake! Can't you bend those rules of yours once in awhile? After all, you're her
father.
Don't you
care?
"

"Of course, I care. But I don't think this is any of our business."

"Fine," Faith said, trying to stifle her exasperation. "Perhaps I'll talk to Lark, then. See how she feels about all of this."

"Faith," Alan said warningly.

She sighed. "Oh, all right, Alan. All right. I won't say a word. But I can hope, can't I? Because I think Justin would make Amy a wonderful husband."

In answer, Alan just gave her an amused look and began reading the sports page again.

* * *

By March, Amy knew that if and when Justin asked her to marry him, she would say yes. She felt safe with him, and quietly happy. So what if she didn't feel the same kind of giddy joy she'd felt with Sam? Perhaps happiness was like candy. A little bit of it went a long way.

She knew she could trust Justin. He would always be there for her. He would never let her down. And that was the bottom line.

They had fallen into a comfortable routine since New Year's Eve. He generally spent a couple of weekday evenings with her and they always spent their weekends together. They'd go out to dinner on Friday night, come back to her apartment, and he would stay there until Monday morning.

Gradually, he began leaving a few clothes and personal articles at her place. Occasionally, she would spend the night at his townhouse, but she didn't like leaving her cats alone too much, and unlike Major, who didn't seem to care where he was, her cats preferred their own turf.

For Amy's twenty-ninth birthday the third week of March—which happily coincided with spring break—Justin suggested a three-day trip to Las Vegas.

"Oh, I'd
love
to go. I've never been," Amy said.

He grinned. "Great. I'll make the arrangements."

When Amy told her mother she would be away for a few days and where she was going, her mother seemed equally pleased. "Oh, good. Las Vegas is fun."

"Do you mind taking care of the cats while I’m gone?"

"I don't mind at all."

Amy couldn't help comparing her mother's reaction to this trip with Justin to Faith's much less positive reaction to her New Orleans trip with Sam. She wasn't surprised, though. Justin was much more mainstream, much more reliable than Sam. Of course, he would appeal to her mother.

So? Isn't that reliability, that safety factor one of the things about him that appeals to you?

Amy was taken aback by the realization that she and her mother might be closer in their ideas than she thought.

"Have a wonderful time, darling," Faith said.

Amy did have a wonderful time. She loved everything about Las Vegas—the flash, the noise, the people, the carnival-like atmosphere, even the garishness. She didn't care that so much of the city was horribly trashy and sinfully excessive, because it was also wickedly fun.

She and Justin stayed at one of the newest and biggest casinos, in an opulent suite that might have belonged in an expensive bordello, with its red velvet and gold-trimmed faux French furniture and dripping crystal chandelier. The round bed tickled her fancy, the satin sheets and mirror on the ceiling made her feel decadent and totally unlike herself. Because the environment was so different, their lovemaking was different, too—much more uninhibited and passionate.

"Maybe I should buy a round bed," Justin said after a particularly energetic session.

"It's the mirror that does it," Amy replied, giggling.

Amy discovered she loved slot machines. She played the quarter machines at Caesar's Palace for such a long time, her right arm became sore. "Now I understand how a person could become a compulsive gambler," she told Justin. "It's positively addictive."

He shook his head in mock disapproval. "And you look so wholesome and prim."

"Prim! I'll give you prim!" She pretended to punch him. "I'm definitely not prim."

No, he thought, happier than he'd ever imagined he could be, she was definitely not prim. And if he'd ever thought so, last night, in bed, would have changed his mind forever. He still couldn't believe how aggressive she'd been. It was the first time, in the months since they'd first become lovers, that she had acted as if she couldn't wait for them to be together. Thinking about the way she'd touched him and the way she'd moaned when he'd touched her, he could feel himself wanting her again.

He bent closer, nuzzling her neck as she pulled the arm of the slot machine. She turned, her eyes only inches from his. Oblivious to the people around them, Justin slipped his arm around her waist and gently squeezed. "Let's go back to the room," he muttered, his voice thick with the desire that had become a hot flame.

Their lovemaking was swift and urgent, and this time, when Justin plunged into her, and she cried out, he was absolutely certain—as he'd never been before—that he was the only man she was thinking about.

* * *

The entire time Amy and Justin were in Las Vegas, Lark could think of nothing else. It infuriated her, this inability to put them out of her mind.

Always before, when Lark had wanted to forget about a man, she had had no trouble. Of course, she'd never really been in love before.

She alternated between hating herself and hating them. Finally she decided she would just hate everyone and everything and be done with it.

On the day they were scheduled to arrive home, she called Amy's and left a falsely cheerful message.
Hey, kiddo, did you have fun in sin city? Call and fill me in on all the details. Tell Justin I said "hi" and hope he won the jackpot.

She laughed bitterly after hanging up the phone. Oh, Justin had won the jackpot, all right. He had Amy. And that's all the jackpot he'd ever want or need.

* * *

The day after their return from Las Vegas, Amy removed the emerald ring from her finger and put it in her jewelry box. The dark green stone sparkled under the lamplight. An aching sadness gripped her as she stared at its beautiful surface and remembered the happiness she'd felt when Sam had given it to her.
Oh, God.
Her hand felt so empty without it. For a moment, she almost grabbed it up again.

Resolutely, she closed the lid of the jewelry box. No. She had made her decision. It wasn't fair to Justin to continue wearing it.

The ring belonged to the past. Sam belonged to the past.

He would always have a part of her heart, but for her own happiness and wellbeing, she had to do her best to move forward . . . into the future . . . with Justin.

* * *

The first thing Justin saw when he came to Amy's a few nights later was the absence of the ring. His heart leaped.
Yes! Finally!
He wanted to say something, but he didn't, not right away. He waited until they'd finished the pizza he'd brought and were sitting on the couch listening to a Pavarotti C.D.