From the Heart (55 page)

She dashed at the tears in her eyes as Thorpe drew her closer. Now that it was coming out, it was far from finished.
She was functioning only on emotion now, and it had to run its course. “Greg came. He was Josh's godfather, our closest friend. God knows we needed somebody; our world had just fallen apart. He kept us from hurting each other more, but the damage was done. Josh was dead.”

She gave a long sigh that rippled through her and had her shoulders trembling under his arm. “He was dead, and nothing could change it. There wasn't any blame. An accident. Just an accident.”

She was silent for a long time. He could sense she was gathering her strength to continue. He wanted the pain to stop, wanted to help her close it off in the past where it had to stay. But even before he could speak, she continued.

“Greg took care of the arrangements—the funeral. I wasn't coping with it well. They were giving me something; I don't even know what it was. That first week, Doug and I were like zombies. My family came, but they didn't know me. They hadn't known Josh as I had. Every day I expected to walk by his room and hear him playing. I went back to work because I couldn't bear staying in the house waiting for him to wake up.”

The tears were flowing as she spoke. Her voice was raw with grief. Whatever Thorpe had expected to find beneath the guards, it hadn't been this. She was blind with it now. He didn't think she was aware of him any longer, or the arm that kept her close.

“The marriage was over. We both knew it, but we couldn't seem to bring ourselves to say the words. It was as if we were both thinking that if we hung on, he'd come back. We were polite to each other, tiptoeing around. I wanted someone to hold on to, someone to tell me . . . I don't know what words I needed to hear, but he didn't have them. I don't suppose I had them for him. We shared the same bed and never touched each other. We lived like that for over a month. Once I—once I asked him to come into Josh's room with me to help me—help me sort through his things. I knew I couldn't do it alone, and that it had to be done. He left the house, and didn't come back all night. He couldn't face it, and I couldn't face it alone. I had to call Greg, and we . . .” She pressed the heel
of her hand to her forehead and tried not to choke over the words. “Doug and I never spoke of it again.

“Then Melinda came, my sister. She'd been fond of Josh. She used to send him useless, expensive little toys. Her being there seemed to help for a while. She was a distraction. She made us get out of the house, forced us to entertain her and keep our minds off . . . everything. I think it helped me, because I began to realize that Doug and I were only hurting each other by keeping up the pretense of being married. We had to stop. I decided to ask for a divorce before one of us did something unforgivable. It wasn't easy. I thought about it for days.

“I came home early one afternoon because I wanted to have a little time to sort out what I would say. I'd made up my mind to talk to Doug that night. When I got there, Doug's car was in the drive. I thought he might have been ill and come home. When I went upstairs, I found him in bed with my sister.”

Very gently, she laid the photo back in her lap. “It was the final blow. My sister, my home, my bed. I left before either of them could say anything. I didn't want to hear. I didn't want to say the horrible things that I knew I'd say if I waited. I went to a motel. That's when I made up my mind that my parents had been right all along. If you live calmly, without disturbing your life with emotional attachments, you can't be hurt. That's how I was going to live. From that moment. No one, nothing, was ever going to take me to that point again. I'd had enough pain. I filed for divorce right away. Doug asked Greg to handle it for me. I never even spoke to him again, except through Greg. After a while I began to realize that Doug had just taken the step before I had. He'd used Melinda to end something that was killing both of us. That made it easier to forgive him. And because we'd had, and lost, something extraordinary together.”

On the last word, she began to weep passionately, uncontrollably. As she turned into Thorpe, his arms cradled her to hold her until the grief passed.

T
here was the faintest of breezes over the water. It rippled over the reflections in the Potomac and just stirred Liv's hair. Now that they were there, stretched out under the sky, Thorpe was glad he had persuaded Liv to come. The sun and the activity would be good for her. Another woman, he thought, would have wanted to sleep off the strain of that much weeping. Not Liv.

She was still pale. Her eyes showed traces of the tears they had spent. But there was an unmistakable aura of strength about her. Thorpe admired her for it even as he loved her for it. Now, he felt he could understand why she had iced herself over. He had seen the face of the boy in the photograph—a face full of life and undiluted joy. He ached for her, for her loss. It was difficult for him to imagine Liv married, having a son, building a life with another man. A small house in the suburbs, a fenced yard, toys under the sofa—all of that seemed a world apart from the woman who sat across from him now. And yet, that had been her life not so many years before. It could be her life again, this time with him. Thorpe wanted it for her, and for himself.

More than ever, he knew there would be a need to move slowly with her. She was strong, yes, but she had been terribly hurt.

Doug,
he thought, and experienced one moment of blazing anger. He didn't forgive as easily as Liv. The man, as he saw
it, had done more than lose Liv through his own weaknesses. He had scarred her. Now it was up to Thorpe to show her, convince her that he meant to stand beside her. Always.

From where Liv sat, she could watch Thorpe row. His muscles rippled. There seemed to be no effort in the skill and strength he used to guide the boat over the river. He wasn't a man who had to flex his biceps to prove he was strong or masculine. He knew himself, and his confidence came from that knowledge.

So she had told him. Years had gone by since she had opened herself like that to anyone. There was nothing he didn't know about her now. Why had she told him? Perhaps, she mused, because she had known—or hoped—he would still be there when she had finished. And he had been: no questions, no advice, only support. He had known what she needed. When had she discovered what an unusual man he was? And why had it taken her so long? She felt relaxed and safe, and more at ease with herself than she could remember. The tears and the telling had purged the pain. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let her body enjoy the cleansing of her mind.

“I haven't thanked you,” she said into the quiet.

“For what?” He brought the oars up and back in a long, steady stroke.

“For being there, and for not saying all those tidy little words people say when someone falls apart.”

“You were hurting.” His eyes were on hers again, looking deep. “Nothing I could say can erase what happened or make it easier. But I'm here now.”

“I know.” Liv sighed and leaned back. “I know.”

They rowed for a time in silence. There were other boats here and there, dotting the river, but they didn't come close enough to exchange waves or greetings. It might have been their own private stream in their own private world.

“It's still early enough in the spring,” Thorpe said, “that the river isn't crowded. I like to come at dawn in the summer, when the light's just breaking. It's amazing how quiet all those buildings look at sunrise. You can forget there'll be throngs of tourists tramping up the monument or packing into the Smithsonian. At dawn, it's hard to think about
what's going on in the Pentagon or the Capitol. They're just buildings, rather unique, sometimes beautiful. On a Saturday or Sunday, when I haven't got a story weighing me down, I can just row, and forget all the times I've climbed the stairs, ridden the elevators and opened the doors in all those buildings.”

“Funny,” Liv mused. “A month or two ago, I would have been surprised to hear you say that. I pictured you as a man with one driving ambition, totally focused on his job, and his job alone. I never would have imagined you needing to get away from it, to separate yourself from the pace.”

He smiled and continued to stroke steadily through the water. “And now?”

“And now I know you.” She sat up and let the wind catch her hair. “When did you discover that rowing was your alternative to ulcer pills?”

He laughed, both amused and pleased. “You do know me. When I got back from the Middle East. It was hard over there. It was hard coming back. I imagine most soldiers feel the same way. Adjusting to normality isn't always easy. I started working out my frustrations this way, and found it became a habit.”

“It suits you,” Liv decided. “The understated physicality.” She grinned as he arched a brow. “I don't imagine it's as simple as you make it look.”

“Want to give it a try?”

She smiled and settled back. “Oh, that's all right. I'm better at spectator sports.”

“It doesn't take much coordination,” he added. Her eyes, which had begun to close, opened again. “Any kid with a week at summer camp can manage it.” He was baiting her purposefully. He wanted to see that gleam of competition back in her eyes.

“I'm sure I could manage it just fine.”

“Come on then,” he invited, and locked the oars. “Give it a try.”

She wasn't at all certain she wanted to, but the challenge was difficult to avoid. “Do you really think we should switch around? I wouldn't like to capsize in the middle of the Potomac.”

“The boat's well balanced,” he said easily. “If you are.”

She stood up at that, though warily. “All right, Thorpe, move aside.”

They changed positions with a minimum of fuss. Thorpe settled down on the small cushioned seat and watched Liv grip the oars. “Don't put a lot of power into it,” he advised as she struggled for a moment to unlock them. “Just keep it as smooth as you can.”

“I went to summer camp,” she said sweetly, then scowled as her arms refused to coordinate with each other. “But then, usually we used canoes. I'm great with a paddle. There.” She managed one shaky but reasonable stroke. “Now I'll get my rhythm. Take that smirk off your face, Thorpe,” she added, and put all her concentration into her task.

Liv could feel twinges from muscles she hadn't put to use in years. It was a good, cleansing feeling. She could count to eight with each stroke and feel her shoulders strain then give with the movement. The oars scraped against her palms.

Oh yes, she thought, I can see why he does it. They were moving—not as cleanly as before, but moving nonetheless through the water under her power. There was no engine, no sail, no dependence on anything but her own effort. Her body, her will and the oars. Yes she understood exactly what he meant. She believed she could have rowed for miles.

“Okay, Carmichael, time's up.”

“Are you kidding? I just got started.” She sent him a grim look and kept rowing.

“Ten minutes is enough the first time out. Besides”—he scooted across to her when she paused—“I don't want you to ruin your hands. I like them the way they are.”

“I like yours.” Taking his palm, she pressed it to her cheek.

“Liv.” It was impossible to believe he could love her more at that moment than he had the moment before. Yet he did. Locking the oars, he drew her close to his side.

 

It was late afternoon before they walked back into Liv's apartment building. Each carried a paper sack filled with groceries.

“I know how to roast a chicken,” Liv insisted, pushing the
button for her floor. “You put it in the oven and turn it on for a couple of hours. Nothing to it.”

“Please.” He gave her a pained look. “It might hear you.” He cradled the sack that held the chicken more protectively. “There's an art to these things, Liv. Seasoning, timing, preparation. If a chicken's going to give up its life for your consumption, the least you can do is have a little respect.”

“I don't think I like the tone of this conversation.” She glanced dubiously at his grocery bag. “Why don't we just send out for pizza?”

“I'm going to show you what a master can do with a two-pound roaster.” Thorpe waited until they had stepped out of the elevator. “And then I'm going to make love to you until Sunday morning.”

“Oh.” Liv gave this a moment's thought and struggled with a pleased smile. “Only till then?”

“Until very late Sunday morning,” he added, stopping to kiss her before she could locate her keys. “Maybe,” he murmured against her mouth, “until very early Sunday afternoon.”

“I'm beginning to appreciate the idea of this cooking lesson a bit more.”

He let his lips wander to her ear. “I'm beginning to appreciate the idea of sending out for pizza. Later.” His mouth came back to hers. “Much, much later.”

“Let's go inside and take a vote.”

“Mmm, I like your thinking.”

“It's the Washington influence,” she told him as she slipped her key into the lock. “There's no issue that can't be resolved with a vote.”

“Tell that to the senators who are waiting for Donahue and his filibuster to run out of steam.”

She laughed and turned the knob. “I'll tell you something, Thorpe,” she said as she closed the door behind them. “I don't want to think about senators or filibusters.” She shifted the bag in her arm so that she could bring her body close to his. “I don't even want to think about that two-pound roaster you're so crazy about.”

“No?” His free arm came around her. “Why don't you tell me what you do want to think about?”

With a smile, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt. “Why don't I show you instead? A good video reporter knows that action's worth a thousand words.”

He felt her cool, long fingers roam down his chest. He set down his bag, then took hers and let it lean against the closed door. “I've always said, Carmichael, you're a hell of a reporter.” Her laugh was smothered against his mouth.

 

It was late Sunday evening. Liv sat close to Thorpe on the sofa. The entire weekend, she thought, had been like a dream. She had shared with him more than she had ever intended to share with anyone. But then, he had come to mean more to her than she had intended to allow anyone to mean to her again.

Last night, they'd laughed through the cooking and eating of dinner. It was so easy to laugh with him. So easy, when she was with him, to forget all the vows she had once made. He loved her. The knowledge still staggered her. This tough, relentless man loved her. He'd shown her gentleness and understanding—traits she had needed but had never thought to find in him. How different her life would have been if she had found him all those years ago.

But no . . . Liv closed her eyes. That would be like wishing Joshua out of existence. She wouldn't give up the memory of those brief years for anything. He'd been the focus of her world. Her child.

Perhaps because her time with him had been concentrated into two short years, she could remember almost every detail of it. Loving like that was the greatest wonder a woman could know. And the greatest danger. She'd promised herself never to experience it again.

Now there was Thorpe. What sort of life would she have with him? What sort would she have without him? Both of the questions, and their answers, frightened her.

Already, she thought as her head stayed nestled on his shoulder, he's gotten close enough to frighten me. I'm not certain I can turn back now . . . . I'm not certain I can go ahead. If things could go on just as they are . . . But the time was fast approaching when she would have to make a move, one way or the other.

He knows what he wants, she mused. There isn't a doubt in his mind. I wish I could see things as clearly.

“You're quiet,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“Yesterday morning's catching up with you.” He wanted to draw her closer, to make her forget, but forgetting wasn't the answer for either of them. “It couldn't have been easy for you, talking it all through, feeling it all again.”

“No, it wasn't easy.” She tilted her head to look up at him. Her face was in shadows, but her eyes were clear on his. “But I'm glad it happened. I'm glad you know. Thorpe . . .” She let out a little breath. It was becoming more and more important that he know everything. “There was a time, right after Josh died, that I wanted to die too. I didn't want to live without him; I couldn't conceive of living without him. There wasn't enough strength in me to do anything solid about it, but if I could have died, just closed my eyes and died, I would have.”

“Liv.” He lifted a hand to her cheek. “I can't pretend to know what it's like to lose a child. That kind of grief can't be understood by anyone who hasn't experienced it.”

“I didn't die,” she continued, swallowing. “I ate, I slept, I functioned. But I buried part of myself with Josh. What was left, I smothered when I divorced Doug. It seemed the only way to survive. I've lived this way a long time, without considering any changes.”

“But you didn't die, Liv.” His hand slipped down to cup her chin. His eyes were direct on hers. “And changes are a part of living.”

“Have you ever loved someone completely?”

“Just you,” he said simply.

“Oh, Thorpe.” Liv pressed her face against his shoulder. Emotion squeezed her heart. The words came so easily to him, and the feelings. She wasn't certain she was strong enough yet to accept them. “I need you. It scares me to death.” She lifted her face again and her eyes were eloquent. “I know what it is to lose. I'm not sure I can survive a second time.”

He was so close, so close to having her. He could feel it. If he took her in his arms, if he kissed her now, he might urge
the words he needed from her lips. They were in her eyes. It took every ounce of his control not to push. Not today, he told himself. She's given you enough this weekend.