Sarah's Child Read online

  But when he walked Sarah to their new apartment, on this first night they’d both be spending there, he knew he couldn’t make love to her. All week he’d been thinking about her, wanting her, feeling her soft flesh beneath him, but now he realized he simply couldn’t do it. The grief that had faded to the background in the past weeks now sprang to life again, as fresh and bitter as it had ever been. He had to say good-bye to Diane.

  When the door closed behind them, Sarah turned into his arms, swaying against him, her arms going around his neck. He kissed her lightly, hating the stiffness of his body; then he took her arms down and put her away from him. “Let me take a look at this place,” he stalled. “I haven’t seen it since you put the furniture in it; it really looks great!”

  He moved through the apartment, and Sarah weaved after him, confused by the way he’d turned away from her embrace. She swayed, then leaned down and took her shoes off, feeling much steadier in her bare feet than she had tottering on three-inch heels. Rome gave his approval to the decor, then seemed to run out of words. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. Finally reaching a decision, he came back to her and put his arm around her waist again, steadying her as he took her to the door of her bedroom. Despite his need to be alone, the fact that this room was off-limits to him without an invitation still angered him. He opened the door and reached in to turn on the light, then put both of his hands on her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a low, raw voice. “Things have really hit me hard tonight, and I can’t…I have to be alone tonight. I’m sorry,” he said again, waiting for her reaction.

  There wasn’t one. She simply looked up at him, seeming smaller than usual because she was barefoot, no expression at all now in the exotic eyes that had been sparkling only a few moments before. She said “good night” and stepped back, closing the door before he could say anything else, if indeed any other words would come to mind. He was left staring at the blank wood of the door, and he stood there, his broad shoulders slumping in defeat, painful memories winging through his mind for several long minutes before he turned and went to his own room.

  He went to bed, but he couldn’t sleep. The years he’d spent with Diane ran through his mind’s eye like home movies, reacquainting him with every nuance of expression that had crossed her expressive face, the plans they’d made during her pregnancies, the bone-deep pride and adoration he’d felt when he’d taken his infant sons in his arms for the first time. Scalding tears burned the back of his eyes, but never fell. His sons. Justin. Shane.

  The pain of losing them was so great that he tried never to think of them; it was something he still couldn’t handle. They’d been a part of him. He’d felt each of them growing inside Diane; he’d been there when they were born, been the first to hold them. Justin’s first wavering steps had been into his waiting arms. He remembered the two A.M. feedings, the lusty, grunting sounds as the infant mouths took the bottle. He remembered Justin’s two-year-old perplexity when a new baby entered his world and took so much of Diane’s time, but soon the toddler had become devoted to the infant Shane, and the two boys had been inseparable since then.

  He remembered their laughter, their innocence, their fearless exploration of the world, and the boisterous way they’d always greeted him when he came home.

  Putting them in their graves had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Dear God, it shouldn’t have been allowed to happen. A parent should never have to bury a child.

  He couldn’t think of a day when the sun had shone since then.

  His head was pounding with a sudden fierce headache, and he pressed his fingertips to his temples. He wanted to scream his pain aloud, but he ground his teeth and soon the torment abated. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and slept.

  In her bedroom, lying in the empty expanse of her bed, Sarah didn’t sleep. She lay very still, feeling the effects of the champagne in the way the room seemed to whirl slowly around her, but it wasn’t because of the champagne that she lay so motionless. She was filled with such pain that she felt as if she would crystallize if she tried to move.

  She should have known, should have realized, how the ceremony would affect him, but she hadn’t until she’d seen the hell in his eyes. Rather than celebrating their marriage, he’d been regretting it, because she wasn’t the one woman he loved.

  Had she been a fool to think she could ever earn his love? Did he even have any more love to give, or had it all gone to the grave with Diane? There was no way of knowing, and she’d made her decision when she’d agreed to marry him. Whatever he could give, she wanted it.

  Whatever it cost her, she had to keep him from seeing how she was hurt; she didn’t want to add to his pain by making him feel guilty. She’d carry on as normal, as if this were the way every couple began their marriage. She didn’t think he’d try to probe too deeply if she put on a nonchalant facade, but rather that he would accept it with relief. All she had to do was get through the weekend; then he would go back to work and she could begin seriously looking for work, or decide if she really wanted to start a small business for herself.

  Her weary mind seized on the subject with relief, wanting something, anything, to prevent her from thinking about Rome. There were really no plans she could make concerning him; she’d just have to take each moment as it came. So she put him out of her mind and tried to decide what sort of business would hold her interest, because she wanted something that she liked as well as something to take up her time. She made a mental list of all her hobbies and interests, and several possibilities sprang to mind. She turned the ideas over and over, until at last sleep claimed her.

  She woke early, the strangeness of her surroundings having prevented deep sleep. Her bedside clock told her it was six thirty. She got up and showered, then pulled on her nightgown again and a robe as well, as she didn’t feel like dressing, and the early autumn temperature had taken a surprisingly sharp dip overnight. It had been so balmy the day before that she’d used the air-conditioning in her car, but now, with typical Texas unpredictability, the weather was distinctly chilly. She went straight to the thermostat and flipped it over to HEAT, and in a moment the comforting pop and crackle of the furnace told her she’d soon have the apartment comfortable.

  Though she’d put everything away, the kitchen was still a surprise to her. She had to hunt for the coffee maker; then she couldn’t find the dipper that she used to measure the coffee. She opened all the drawers and searched through them, slamming them shut in increasing temper when the search failed to turn up the missing object. She simply wasn’t in the mood for anything to go wrong, and she muttered dire threats to the dipper for hiding itself.

  Finally she found it in the can of coffee. She closed her eyes at her own stupidity, because now she remembered putting it in the coffee can where it wouldn’t get lost…She hated moving! She hated turning everything topsy-turvy, with nothing where she was accustomed to finding it. The refrigerator was on the opposite side of the stove from where it had been in her old apartment, and she turned in the wrong direction every time she wanted something from it. This kitchen was larger than her old one, and she rattled around in it. She felt small and lost, just as she’d felt as a child when she lay in her neat, colorless room and listened to the bitter arguments her parents had.

  She knew that Rome was customarily an early riser, so she started breakfast, trying to force herself to relax and perform the familiar routine even though all her cooking utensils were in the wrong places. As soon as the coffee had finished brewing, she poured a cup and sipped it, closing her eyes and trying to will herself to calm down. She knew that, in time, she’d become accustomed to her new surroundings. It was just a matter of adjusting herself.

  But what about Rome? He was the cause of at least half her nervousness, because she didn’t know what to say to him, and she knew she’d have to face him soon. What could a woman say to a brand-new husband who’d spent the night alone? Perhaps she shouldn’t have marr