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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Interlude - 8. Chapter 8
I'll Be Seeing You
Her touch on my arm was filled with electricity. I almost pulled away. It made me feel…itsy. Like I always felt before I had to do something new, go somewhere I had never been before, talk to someone I didn’t know. Was a bit like butterflies in my stomach, but worse. No, not worse because it wasn’t a bad feeling, just…itsy.
“Deirdre, where are you?” I could hear the smile in her voice and I knew it would be in her eyes, as well. She had beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I always wished I had eyes like that. Mine were just blue. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. She said they were very pretty eyes, and I had stopped arguing with her—mostly because Alison would carry on an argument until you absolutely proved her wrong, or until you just gave up. But also, it was partly that I knew she meant it—and it made me feel good.
I didn’t have much to feel good about these days. Steven was god only knew where--somewhere in the North Atlantic as far as I knew. I hadn’t seen him in almost 2 years. The baby wasn’t even a baby anymore. He was walking and had started talking—mostly in his own language of sounds and gestures—but I understood him. A mother always understands her child. Alison would laugh and say I ought to apply for a job as a code breaker. If I could understand Tommy, how hard could it be to decipher German or Japanese codes?
Alison’s boyfriend, Danny, was in the Pacific. He was a marine. She would laugh and say that she thought Danny had gotten together with his “connections” and planned the whole war just to get away from her. When she first said that, I had asked her why he didn’t break up with her if he wanted to get away from her.
“Because he loves me—he just can’t stand the thought of being with one woman for the rest of his life.” And her eyes took on a far away look. “But when he comes home on leave…” She smiled, a wise smile, a smile of a woman who knew men. “Let him sow his oats overseas. When the war is over and he comes home for good, he will be all mine.”
And she would laugh and say what was good for the goose was good for the gander. If he could sow oats, so could she. But I saw the way she looked when she checked the mail, when she looked for a letter from him. She loved him. There was no question of that.
But she wasn’t one to admit her feelings, which was funny because she was always trying to get me to let mine show. But I did show most of the ones I felt. I just didn’t feel the ones she thought I did. And I felt ones I was afraid to show.
Steven had come home once since he shipped out. I had been 8 months pregnant at the time. When he looked at me I knew he didn’t see me the way he had before he had left. He barely touched me. He felt like a stranger to me.
I hadn’t told Alison that. I pretended it was all great between us. I had seen how Danny would greet her when he came home on leave. He would sweep her into his arms and swing her around, his eyes never leaving her. And they never left her. Whenever she was in the room, his eyes were on her. I would hear her giggling—an odd sound from her—in the night. I would hear other sounds, as well, sounds of their love. I hated the way they made me cry. I had thought it would be like that with Steve and me—but it wasn’t.
“I was just thinking.” I knew she was waiting for an answer. She would always wait for an answer.
She smiled and pulled me close. My heart thumped and my breath caught in my throat, like it always did.
“About Steve?” Her voice was gentle, as was the touch of her lips on my hair.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I nodded. It wasn’t a lie. I had been thinking of Steven, just not in the way she assumed.
She slipped a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her. The tears spilled from my eyes. I tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let me. She never did.
“It’s ok, honey.” She wiped the tears from my eyes. “I miss Danny like that, too.”
I looked into her eyes. They were so beautiful. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I sighed and rested my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair and I buried my face in her neck and clung to her. Her scent filled my head. It was sweet—and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her.
I smiled as her hair fell over my face. It was always getting out of the bobby pins. Alison would laugh and say it was the gypsy blood in her—her hair was meant to be wild and unrestrained. I sighed. It felt so cool and soft against my forehead. I felt my fingers reaching up to touch her hair, felt my fingers reaching for the remaining bobby pins and pulling them gently from her hair.
She laughed softly. “I know, there really is no point in putting them in there in the first place.”
I started a little then pulled away and laughed, it was a little forced, but that would be expected of a woman missing her husband. “Truly, Alison, you should just let you hair stay loose.”
She looked shocked—but the laughter was still in her eyes. “And have my hair just blowing around my face as wild and free as a little girl? Deirdre Wallace, I am shocked at the very suggestion!” She shook her head hard, and her hair fell down completely.
She was beautiful with her hair like that, looking like she had just come in from a windy day—or had just gotten out of bed. My breath caught in my throat, but I forced another laugh. “You look like Esmerelda in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
She threw back her head and laughed, a deep hearty laugh filled with the joy of life—just reinforcing the image of her as Esmerelda the Gypsy girl. “Oh, Deirdre, I love you so!” She squeezed me tightly in her arms and kissed my cheek. “If I thought for one moment I looked anything like Maureen O’Hara I would head right on out to Hollywood!” She squeezed me again.
I looked up at her and smiled. She didn’t look anything like Maureen O’Hara. Maureen O’Hara looked like an actress—perfect actress features, perfect actress hair. Alison looked like…Esmerelda, the beautiful but wild Gypsy girl.
**
“I don’t know, Alison…” I protested as she led me out onto the dance floor.
“It’s ok. There are more girls than men these days. No one will mind if we dance together.”
I looked around the room. She was right. There were maybe five or six men, most of them an assortment of army officers at one table. And there were nearly twice as many girls.
“Besides, maybe a couple of those officers over there will take pity on us and cut in.” Her voice was laughing and I looked up and was completely dazzled by her smile.
I laughed up at her and put one hand on her shoulder and one in hers. “I warn you, though, Steve always said I danced a bit like a cow on roller skates.”
She looked down at me, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Sometimes I wonder how Steve had enough sense to marry you. Seems he can be a complete moron at times.” She started to move and pull me into the dance.
I shook my head. “Alison, believe me. Steve is not far off. I have no real sense of dancing and will tread on your feet.” True to my word, my toe found hers.
She laughed. “Trust me, babe, as good as he is at some things, Danny is no prize dancer! I can barely walk after a night of dancing with him. And you are much lighter.” She pulled me into a small turn and I caught her toe again. She smiled down at me. “Deirdre, hun, you just need to relax.” She slowed her steps to nearly nothing. “Here, just feel the music. Don’t move your feet, just let your body move with the music. Close your eyes. It will help.”
I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the music, tried to feel it. It was Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade. I felt her body sway gently against my hands. Her hand that wasn’t holding mine was on my waist. It felt warm—no, it felt hot. I felt it moving against me, guiding me into the rhythm of the song.
I leaned closer to her. Or did she pull me closer? “That’s it, Deirdre.” Her voice was low and soft. “Just feel me, hun, move with me.” I did. I felt her. I felt the heat of her pressing against me. I felt the softness of her hand in mine. I felt the gentle strength of her hand on my waist.
I leaned against her completely, resting my head on her shoulder. Her hair was down, no bobby pins tonight, and it hung about her shoulders and brushed against my face as I pressed my cheek against her neck. I barely heard the music. I just heard her breathing, felt her warmth, felt her swaying against me.
I started as I felt a touch on my shoulder.
“My friend and I were wondering if you girls would care to dance.” It was a male voice. Alison had been right—they were taking pity on us. More likely taking pity on Alison, seeing her dancing with a cow on roller skates.
I looked up at her, wondering if she would read the disappointment in my eyes. Her eyes smiled into mine. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. They never left mine as she said, “Thank you, Captain, but I’m afraid my friend has promised all her dances to me this evening.”
She pulled me closer and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and found her shoulder again, my lips smiling against the soft skin of her neck. I felt her lips upon my hair and I sighed and brushed my nose and lips against her ear. I felt her sharp intake of breath, felt her hand tighten in mine, felt her let her breath out slowly in a whisper against my hair, “Deirdre…”
I clung to her, my body swaying against hers, so lost in her that I never heard the music stop.
**
We barely spoke during the walk home. The night was a little cold and we had enough money between us to take a taxi, but both of us seemed to want the cold air. I know I did. I needed it to clear my head—but I needed it more to cool my skin. It burned where it had touched hers. My fingers that had been laced with hers, my cheek where it had been pressed against her neck, my nose and lips where they had brushed against her ear…they felt hot to the touch, as if they still touched her. Part of me wanted to jump right into the snow bank along side the road and watch the steam rise. But part of me wanted to run my fingers slowly over every part of me that had touched her, wanted to feel that heat, feel her. That part of me won.
By the time we got home we were both chilled to the bone. I took off my coat and rubbed my arms. My teeth were chattering. We shared the downstairs flat. Alison’s mother lived in the upstairs flat. It was an old house and even when the heat was turned way up, most of it went upstairs or slipped under the heavy drapes and out the windows. But there was a fireplace in the parlor. And Alison’s uncle had just dropped off a load of wood on the back porch.
“Brrrr! I’ll make some cocoa if you’ll start a fire,” I suggested.
Alison was already opening the damper. “One step ahead of you, babe,” she called over her shoulder.
I smiled as I went into the kitchen. It always made me feel warm, when she said that… when she called me “babe.” I got the milk from the ice box and put some in a pan on the stove to warm it. The cocoa was on the top shelf of the cupboard. It was just beyond the reach of my fingers. I could touch it but not grab it.
“Deirdre, if you do reach it, it is going to come down on your head,” Alison said as she came in from the porch carrying an armful of wood for the fire. Give me a second and I’ll get it for you.”
I heard her drop the load of wood by the fireplace and she was back. She reached up and grabbed it easily. She was so tall compared to me. She smiled. “We really need to get a step-stool. Either that or lower the cabinets.”
I pretended to scowl at her. “My feet reach the ground, that’s all that matters.”
She looked down, her smile warming the room more than the fire would. “Barely!” she laughed. “The milk is scalding,” she said looking over my shoulder. I turned to look and she tickled the small of my back and ran into the parlor.
I jumped and laughed. I was so ticklish and she knew it. “Not fair, Alison!” I called out to her. “I’ll get even with you!” I heard her laugh. I looked at the milk. It wasn’t scalding yet. I thought of getting even with her. I thought of tickling her, thought of my fingers on her skin.
The milk was frothing over the side of the pan. “Damn it!” I exclaimed, roused from my reverie.
**
The fire was warm and inviting. We sat on the sofa, our legs stretched out in front of us, our toes reaching for the fire. My fingers were wrapped around the cup of cocoa soaking up the warmth right through the cup. I set the cup down on the table next to the couch as I watched Alison finish her cocoa. “Want another cup?”
She shook her head. “No thanks, Dee.” She leaned over, reaching across me to set her cup next to mine. I started to wonder why she hadn’t just handed it to me. But as she leaned across me, her right arm resting behind me on the sofa while her left brushed against me, I stopped wondering. I stopped thinking. I stopped breathing. I stopped doing everything. I just sat there, every nerve in my body tingling from her closeness.
It seemed like time had nearly stopped. She moved so slowly, her arm sliding across my blouse. And as she leaned back, it seemed she made a point of moving even more slowly, of letting her arm linger against me. I wondered how long it would be before I would pass out from holding my breath. But in the same thought I wondered if maybe time had stopped for me, if maybe I wasn’t holding my breath, if maybe I had actually died from her overwhelming attack on my senses.
And I let that thought wander around my head. Was this to be my heaven: the closeness of her tantalizing my nerve endings, the scent of her captivating my senses from now until the end of time? Or was it to be my hell: poised on the edge of touch, wanting to just lean forward and fall into the sweet abyss that was Alison—yet caught for eternity in this breathless moment? And I felt a feeling of repetition rush over me, felt the complete certainty that this moment had come before, that it would come again.
“Deirdre.”
Her voice was soft, barely perceptible to my stilled senses. She was staring at me. No, not really staring. She was just looking at me, but her eyes were so intense. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were unbearably close to mine.
As I stared back at her, my lips parted and I finally released my breath. My lips felt dry. My whole mouth was dry. I ran my tongue over my lips instinctively. I heard her catch her breath, saw a flicker in those green eyes. I reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. It was an instinctive gesture, not a considered one. If I had stopped to consider it I would have sat on my hands. But I didn’t. I didn’t consider my other hand either as it reached for her waist. I barely touched her, yet my fingers felt as if I had touched fire—I let them burn.
She ran a finger along the curve of my cheek then brushed her fingers over my lips. I felt her let her breath out slowly. Her eyes were looking straight into mine. “Deirdre…” she whispered as she leaned toward me. “Dee…” she whispered as her lips touched mine.
My hand moved slowly from her waist up her back, pulling her closer to me. Her tongue touched mine and I tasted a sweetness I could never have imagined. I let my tongue touch hers, tentatively, uncertainly. I had never been comfortable kissing Steve like that. But it was different with Alison. It felt natural, right, like…it felt like home. It felt like I had been away and had come home.
Her fingers moved down my neck, their touch light, so light I could barely feel it—yet it sent the sweetest warmth travelling through my entire body. She continued to kiss me, her lips so light against mine yet so complete in their connection to me. I moaned softly as she sucked lightly on my tongue, slowly, gently drawing it into her mouth. I felt her answering moan against my lips as my hand found the zipper of her dress. Her dress fell off her shoulders and I ran my fingers lightly over her skin. It was so soft. I just ran my fingers back and forth from her shoulder, down her back and back to her shoulder. I wanted to touch more of her skin, wanted to feel every inch of that smooth velvet.
Her lips left mine and I felt a sudden emptiness, a sudden loss of that connection. I made a sound of protest that died on my lips as her lips moved down my neck, little soft kisses barely tickling my skin, kisses as light as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. I tipped my head back and her kiss lingered at the base of my throat.
I closed my eyes, feeling as I had felt on the dance floor, feeling my body respond to her, moving in time with a music we both heard, getting completely lost in her.
Then she stood up. I opened my eyes slowly, so lost in her that it was hard to find my way back. I looked up at her. She had pushed her dress back on her shoulders, but as I met her eyes, still feeling as though my head were filled with mist, it slipped down off her left right shoulder. She looked down at me and her head tilted to one side a little, an expression almost of wonder in her beautiful eyes.
The song on the radio changed. I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places… It washed over me like a river—and I knew I had seen her before. No, obviously I had seen her before! She had been my friend since high school and I had shared her flat since Steve shipped out. It wasn’t that…it wasn’t her I had seen, and “before” wasn’t just “before”—it was BEFORE, as in another time, another place, another life. Not her, but her eyes, those beautiful green eyes. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
They narrowed a little, as if she were trying to figure something out. And I knew she was feeling the same thing I was, that sense of repetition, of familiarity.
She reached out her hand. I placed my hand in hers. I looked at them for a moment, looked at my fingers wrapped around hers and again that sense of familiarity swept over me and with it a feeling, a memory of being loved so completely it took my breath away. I heard a small sound, almost like a baby about to cry. As she drew me to my feet I heard it again. She traced the curve of my cheek with one finger, the wonder in her eyes changing to something else. She brushed her fingers over my cheek and drew me close. I could taste the tears now as they touched my lips and I realized that small sound—almost like a baby about to cry—had come from me.
She stroked my hair softly, so softly. “Deirdre?”
I didn’t look up, I just pressed closer to her. Her scent surrounded me. It was sweet and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her… I rested my head on her shoulder and pressed my face against her neck. Her hair brushed against my face, so soft and cool against my skin.
She rubbed my back, her fingers moving back and forth across my shoulders, following the rhythm of the music on the radio. I put both of my arms around her neck, my fingers tangling in her gypsy-girl hair. I felt her start to sway with the music, like she had done on the dance floor. I felt her lips press against my hair and I sighed and brushed my nose and lips against her ear. She was everywhere, she surrounded me, wrapping around me like the music, holding me in arms that made me feel so safe. That sense of recognition, of familiarity flashed through me again—but I didn’t care. I just let myself get lost in her, let everything else in the world just fade away.
**
The morning sun tickled my eyes, teasing me awake, coaxing me from my dreams—like the brush of her fingers against my cheek. But at the same time, it warmed my skin, holding me in my sleep, making me feel safe and loved—like her arms wrapped around me.
I sighed and opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the light. She was still asleep, one arm across my stomach, her lips trembling slightly from her breath, her hair—her wild gypsy girl hair—falling over her face. I watched her for a few moments, watched the morning sun play with the fall of light and shadows across her beautiful face. I could tell the sun tickled her eyes, too. I could see her eyelids flutter, could see her nose start to twitch. Soon she would open her eyes, her beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And she would open them and they would smile at me with a light that would cast the sun into darkness.
I brushed a strand of hair back from her face and pressed my lips lightly against her forehead. I couldn’t believe my own happiness. I felt light and gay, like a summer’s day. I smiled and the words drifted through my head, the words of the song that had played that first night we lay in each others’ arms:
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I just wanted this feeling to go on forever. I wanted to wake up in her arms for the rest of my life. I wanted nothing to come between us, not Danny, not Steve. I never wanted Steve to come home.
A shadow drifted across her face, a deep, black shadow that stole all the light away from her. I looked up and saw Steve. He had come home! He was staring at me, his eyes hollow, empty, yet his face a mask of accusation. And I saw his mouth open as if to speak, and a cry of agony and hopelessness, a cry of betrayal shattered my dreams. “Why?”
I woke up, my whole body shaking. I heard the cry again and looked across the room to see Tommy standing in his crib crying. I looked down on the floor and saw Slumber Pup on the floor. I took a deep breath. “Hang on, honey, mommy will get that for you sweetheart.” I ran my hand over the empty pillow next to mine, whispered a silent “Good Morning” to the rumpled blankets and got up to rescue Slumber Pup.
**
She reached across the table and ran a finger along the line of my cheek. “What’s the matter, Dee? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
I hadn’t. Not since that night. Not since the song had ended. Not since she had looked into my eyes and smiled that slightly sad smile, that smile that told me she understood everything.
“I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” I looked down. I didn’t want to look at her. I knew she could always see what I was thinking. She had always understood me completely—and I knew that “always” extended back as far as the beginning of everything.
She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. I ached as her fingers wrapped around mine. “You want to talk about it, babe?” It always made me feel so warm all over when she called me babe. But this time it made my stomach flip. How could I tell her? I couldn’t. Not now. Not after she had smiled that slightly sad smile, that smile that told me she understood everything, that smile that told me everything I didn’t want to understand.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing, Alison. Just thinking about Steve, that’s all.” It wasn’t quite a lie. I had been thinking about Steve, thinking about how I wished he wouldn’t come home.
She slipped a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her. Her eyes were soft, her smile even softer. I wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to brush my fingers over her lips. “He’ll be home soon, honey. Now that the Germans have surrendered, they’ll start bringing our boys in the Atlantic home.” Her eyes flickered and I knew she was thinking of Danny. I felt a sudden stab of jealousy. If Danny didn’t come home then there would be no reason… I stopped myself, tears forming in my eyes. How could I even THINK that? Alison loved Danny! How could I be so selfish to wish him dead so she would love me instead?
She got up and had her arms around me in an instant. “It’s alright, babe.” Her voice was gentle—and soft, like her lips. “They’ll both be home soon.” She laughed. “And they’ll both make fun of us for being such gooses to cry over them when they are perfectly fine and probably drinking it up in some bar right now.” But she didn’t wipe the tears from my eyes, she just held me tightly, pressing her lips softly against my hair.
I just clung to her and let my tears flow. She was right. They both would be home soon…
**
“I think Tommy is going to be a drummer!” Alison laughed as Tommy sat in the middle of the kitchen floor banging on a pot with a wooden spoon.
I laughed too. Alison’s laugh was catching, as was her smile. I looked at Tommy. Steve wouldn’t recognize him. Well, of course he wouldn’t. He had never seen him except for the picture I had sent him soon after Tommy was born. But he had Steve’s curly brown hair and brown eyes. There was no mistaking the Wallace look. But he had my sense of rhythm—poor boy! If he were going to be a drummer when he grew up, there would have to be a lot of miracles between now and then.
Alison reached down and picked him up, pot and spoon and all, and sat him in his high chair. “I swear, Dee, he weighs almost as much as you do already!” She laughed as he poked her with the spoon and called her “Annie Allie.”
I smiled. “He is Steve all over.” He was, too. He would probably grow up to be just like Steve: Tall, muscular, handsome…shallow, insensitive, distant.
I sighed and finished making Tommy’s oatmeal. I added a little sugar, some milk and a little butter. I gave him his bowl and his spoon and sat down at the table. I smiled as I watched him eat. Tommy was doing pretty well, but he needed to be watched or the kitchen would turn into a big bowl of oatmeal. He would end up with oatmeal all over his hands and his face as it was, but I didn’t mind that. As my mother had always told me, everything washes off.
I sighed. Everything washes off. Except Evening in Paris. It was sensual, sweet. It was her scent. Danny bought it for her. I could still smell it, clinging to my arms, to my clothes from when she had held me this morning. That scent never quite washed off. It was always right on the edge of my senses.
The doorbell rang. I shook my head, a little relieved to have my thoughts interrupted. But Alison stood up. "I’ll get it, Dee. You stay with our Little Drummer Boy.”
I watched her as she left the room. Why was everything that was so right so wrong? If only… No, I wasn’t going to wish that again. I leaned my head on my hand.
I looked up. Alison was standing in the doorway, her face was like ashes. My heart stopped. “There’s a telegram…” I looked in her hands; they were empty. My heart started beating again. It wasn’t Danny. Thank God it wasn’t Danny. But that would mean…
I couldn’t move. I just sat there staring at her. She turned and went back to the front door. She brought the delivery boy back with her.
“Mrs. Steven Wallace?” His face was nearly as ashen as Alison’s. I nodded. “I just need you to sign…”
He held out a piece of paper to me. I took it, but I was staring at his other hand, the one that held the telegram. I looked around absently for a pen and one seemed to appear like magic in my hand. I glanced at the paper and wrote something that looked like it could have been written by Tommy. I couldn’t take my eyes off his other hand. It seemed to grow in size, seemed to fill the room. That hand was trembling as he handed IT to me.
I looked up and saw that he was looking at Tommy and then at me. And I wondered how many times he had done that before, had looked from a mother to a baby and back to the mother as he handed her the telegram… I thought, by the look on his face, that the answer would probably be “too many times.”
I reached for my purse, but his look of horror stopped me. I knew he wouldn’t accept a tip, not for delivering THAT telegram. I smiled at him. I could feel my lips trembling. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear and left. IT was still in my hand.
It was still in my hand when Alison came back. I didn’t even realize she had left. She sat down next to me. I looked up at her. “I can’t open it.” My voice didn’t sound like me at all. It sounded like someone else.
She took the telegram from me and opened it. I didn’t need to look at it. I didn’t need to see the words. I read them on her face. I had read them on the delivery boy’s face.
She put her arms around me and I buried my face in her shoulder and cried. I cried for Steve who would never get to hold his son. I cried for Tommy who would never get to play ball with his dad. But mostly I cried for myself. But they weren’t tears of grief or sadness. I had wished Steve wouldn’t come home. Be careful what you wish for—you might get it. I cried because my wish had come true.
**
The morning sun tickled my eyes, teasing me awake, coaxing me from my dreams—like the brush of her fingers against my cheek. But at the same time, it warmed my skin, holding me in my sleep, making me feel safe and loved—like her arms wrapped around me.
I sighed and opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the light. She was still asleep, one arm across my stomach, her lips trembling slightly from her breath, her hair—her wild gypsy girl hair—falling over her face.
No! I woke myself up. I looked over at Tommy. He was still sound asleep in his crib. I got up and walked over to the window. It was barely dawn, but already there was a stickiness in the air that would only get worse. And the heaviness in the air didn’t help lighten the heaviness in my heart.
Danny had called yesterday morning. He was home, well, he had called from the train station in Denver. He was on his way home. Would be here this evening. My sister and brother-in-law Bob were coming to get me this afternoon. I would be able to stay with them until everything with Steve’s insurance and everything else was straightened out. Then I would go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Maybe New York. And maybe I would stop having the dreams…
I sighed. I needed to pack. It wasn’t like there was much to pack. Steve and I hadn’t even set up house together. We had been married one day and he had shipped out three days later. And we had stayed in a hotel for those three days. Most of the things I had were Tommy’s. I looked through the closet. There really wasn’t much of Steve’s here. I ran my hand over one of his shirts. I should have felt…something. But I didn’t. I didn’t love Steve. I had never loved Steve. I knew that from the moment I first looked into her eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And from the moment I had looked into those eyes, from the moment I had felt that sense of repetition, of having looked into those eyes many times before, I had known it was Alison that I loved.
**
“But I don’t understand why you have to leave!” Alison cried. She literally cried, tears streaming down her face.
I looked at her, my eyes pleading for understanding, pleading with her to not make me put it into words. “Danny is coming home. Tommy and I will only be in the way, Alison. You know that.” I smiled. It was forced—and I knew she could see that. “Besides, Julie is due any day now and really could use some help around the house. And I haven’t seen her in way too long.”
“Deirdre…” There was a soft plea in her voice. I looked into her eyes. The plea was there also. She reached out and traced the line of my cheek with one finger. Why did she always have to do that? I closed my eyes refusing to release the tears that stung the back of my eyes. I would NOT cry. Not this time. She put her arms around me and pulled me close. “Deirdre, you know I…”
I stopped her. I pressed my lips against hers and stopped the words before they could fall from her soft, incredibly soft lips. I didn’t want to hear them. They wouldn’t change anything. They would only make it hurt worse.
I felt her sigh and my fingers tangled in her hair—in her gypsy-girl hair—letting the silken strands slip through my fingers. I turned and pressed my face against her hair. Her scent surrounded me. It was sweet and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her… Danny…
The front door opened and we both started. “Danny!” Alison yelled. She was in his arms in an instant.
“Alison, baby!” He picked her up and swung her around, his eyes never leaving her.
I stood there, my throat tightening. I looked at the clock. Julie and Bob would be here to pick me up in about half an hour. Danny wasn’t supposed to be home until later. I was supposed to be gone by then. I had wanted to be gone by then.
Alison looked over Danny’s shoulder and her eyes met mine. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I saw the slight sadness in them. Even though I knew she was as happy at this moment as she had ever been in her life, there was that slight sadness of understanding, a slight sadness of regret.
I just smiled reassuringly and turned away. I couldn’t keep looking into those eyes. I knew I couldn’t ever look into those eyes again without her seeing that my heart was breaking in two. And even if it was, and even if I knew she knew that, I still didn’t want her to see that.
I picked up Tommy and held him close. He was all I had left of Steve. Not that I had ever had much of Steve. But he was all I had left now. I looked at the clock. Julie and Bob would be here soon. There was no point in my staying any longer.
As I walked toward the back door, I saw the small bottle of perfume on the bureau. A little blue bottle. Evening in Paris. Danny had given it to her. It was her scent. It clung to everything she touched. I ran a hand across my eyes, wiping away the tears that I knew would never stop once they started. Evening in Paris. It still clung to me, to every part of me she had touched and held so tightly only a few moments ago.
I glanced over my shoulder. It was a quick glance. I didn’t want to meet her eyes again. But I didn’t have to worry—her eyes were only for Danny. Her eyes… They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
I picked up the bottle of Evening in Paris and held it against my heart, before slipping it into my purse and walking out the back door.
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
I tossed fitfully, the melody of a song streaming through my head. But it wasn’t a song I wanted to remember. I wanted to move as far away from that song as possible. It filled me with a sense of things incomplete, unresolved. My stomach turned as my body tossed. It was all wrong. But even as the melody drove me away, her scent wound around me, surrounding me, teasing me, calling me back with the promise of her warm embrace. And I longed to surrender to that scent, to fall into to those arms it promised. It was all I wanted, all I ached for. And I reached toward them—but they pushed me away.
Copyright © 2011 Luc; All Rights Reserved.
Her touch on my arm was filled with electricity. I almost pulled away. It made me feel…itsy. Like I always felt before I had to do something new, go somewhere I had never been before, talk to someone I didn’t know. Was a bit like butterflies in my stomach, but worse. No, not worse because it wasn’t a bad feeling, just…itsy.
“Deirdre, where are you?” I could hear the smile in her voice and I knew it would be in her eyes, as well. She had beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I always wished I had eyes like that. Mine were just blue. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. She said they were very pretty eyes, and I had stopped arguing with her—mostly because Alison would carry on an argument until you absolutely proved her wrong, or until you just gave up. But also, it was partly that I knew she meant it—and it made me feel good.
I didn’t have much to feel good about these days. Steven was god only knew where--somewhere in the North Atlantic as far as I knew. I hadn’t seen him in almost 2 years. The baby wasn’t even a baby anymore. He was walking and had started talking—mostly in his own language of sounds and gestures—but I understood him. A mother always understands her child. Alison would laugh and say I ought to apply for a job as a code breaker. If I could understand Tommy, how hard could it be to decipher German or Japanese codes?
Alison’s boyfriend, Danny, was in the Pacific. He was a marine. She would laugh and say that she thought Danny had gotten together with his “connections” and planned the whole war just to get away from her. When she first said that, I had asked her why he didn’t break up with her if he wanted to get away from her.
“Because he loves me—he just can’t stand the thought of being with one woman for the rest of his life.” And her eyes took on a far away look. “But when he comes home on leave…” She smiled, a wise smile, a smile of a woman who knew men. “Let him sow his oats overseas. When the war is over and he comes home for good, he will be all mine.”
And she would laugh and say what was good for the goose was good for the gander. If he could sow oats, so could she. But I saw the way she looked when she checked the mail, when she looked for a letter from him. She loved him. There was no question of that.
But she wasn’t one to admit her feelings, which was funny because she was always trying to get me to let mine show. But I did show most of the ones I felt. I just didn’t feel the ones she thought I did. And I felt ones I was afraid to show.
Steven had come home once since he shipped out. I had been 8 months pregnant at the time. When he looked at me I knew he didn’t see me the way he had before he had left. He barely touched me. He felt like a stranger to me.
I hadn’t told Alison that. I pretended it was all great between us. I had seen how Danny would greet her when he came home on leave. He would sweep her into his arms and swing her around, his eyes never leaving her. And they never left her. Whenever she was in the room, his eyes were on her. I would hear her giggling—an odd sound from her—in the night. I would hear other sounds, as well, sounds of their love. I hated the way they made me cry. I had thought it would be like that with Steve and me—but it wasn’t.
“I was just thinking.” I knew she was waiting for an answer. She would always wait for an answer.
She smiled and pulled me close. My heart thumped and my breath caught in my throat, like it always did.
“About Steve?” Her voice was gentle, as was the touch of her lips on my hair.
Tears welled up in my eyes. I nodded. It wasn’t a lie. I had been thinking of Steven, just not in the way she assumed.
She slipped a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her. The tears spilled from my eyes. I tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let me. She never did.
“It’s ok, honey.” She wiped the tears from my eyes. “I miss Danny like that, too.”
I looked into her eyes. They were so beautiful. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I sighed and rested my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair and I buried my face in her neck and clung to her. Her scent filled my head. It was sweet—and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her.
I smiled as her hair fell over my face. It was always getting out of the bobby pins. Alison would laugh and say it was the gypsy blood in her—her hair was meant to be wild and unrestrained. I sighed. It felt so cool and soft against my forehead. I felt my fingers reaching up to touch her hair, felt my fingers reaching for the remaining bobby pins and pulling them gently from her hair.
She laughed softly. “I know, there really is no point in putting them in there in the first place.”
I started a little then pulled away and laughed, it was a little forced, but that would be expected of a woman missing her husband. “Truly, Alison, you should just let you hair stay loose.”
She looked shocked—but the laughter was still in her eyes. “And have my hair just blowing around my face as wild and free as a little girl? Deirdre Wallace, I am shocked at the very suggestion!” She shook her head hard, and her hair fell down completely.
She was beautiful with her hair like that, looking like she had just come in from a windy day—or had just gotten out of bed. My breath caught in my throat, but I forced another laugh. “You look like Esmerelda in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
She threw back her head and laughed, a deep hearty laugh filled with the joy of life—just reinforcing the image of her as Esmerelda the Gypsy girl. “Oh, Deirdre, I love you so!” She squeezed me tightly in her arms and kissed my cheek. “If I thought for one moment I looked anything like Maureen O’Hara I would head right on out to Hollywood!” She squeezed me again.
I looked up at her and smiled. She didn’t look anything like Maureen O’Hara. Maureen O’Hara looked like an actress—perfect actress features, perfect actress hair. Alison looked like…Esmerelda, the beautiful but wild Gypsy girl.
**
“I don’t know, Alison…” I protested as she led me out onto the dance floor.
“It’s ok. There are more girls than men these days. No one will mind if we dance together.”
I looked around the room. She was right. There were maybe five or six men, most of them an assortment of army officers at one table. And there were nearly twice as many girls.
“Besides, maybe a couple of those officers over there will take pity on us and cut in.” Her voice was laughing and I looked up and was completely dazzled by her smile.
I laughed up at her and put one hand on her shoulder and one in hers. “I warn you, though, Steve always said I danced a bit like a cow on roller skates.”
She looked down at me, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Sometimes I wonder how Steve had enough sense to marry you. Seems he can be a complete moron at times.” She started to move and pull me into the dance.
I shook my head. “Alison, believe me. Steve is not far off. I have no real sense of dancing and will tread on your feet.” True to my word, my toe found hers.
She laughed. “Trust me, babe, as good as he is at some things, Danny is no prize dancer! I can barely walk after a night of dancing with him. And you are much lighter.” She pulled me into a small turn and I caught her toe again. She smiled down at me. “Deirdre, hun, you just need to relax.” She slowed her steps to nearly nothing. “Here, just feel the music. Don’t move your feet, just let your body move with the music. Close your eyes. It will help.”
I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the music, tried to feel it. It was Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade. I felt her body sway gently against my hands. Her hand that wasn’t holding mine was on my waist. It felt warm—no, it felt hot. I felt it moving against me, guiding me into the rhythm of the song.
I leaned closer to her. Or did she pull me closer? “That’s it, Deirdre.” Her voice was low and soft. “Just feel me, hun, move with me.” I did. I felt her. I felt the heat of her pressing against me. I felt the softness of her hand in mine. I felt the gentle strength of her hand on my waist.
I leaned against her completely, resting my head on her shoulder. Her hair was down, no bobby pins tonight, and it hung about her shoulders and brushed against my face as I pressed my cheek against her neck. I barely heard the music. I just heard her breathing, felt her warmth, felt her swaying against me.
I started as I felt a touch on my shoulder.
“My friend and I were wondering if you girls would care to dance.” It was a male voice. Alison had been right—they were taking pity on us. More likely taking pity on Alison, seeing her dancing with a cow on roller skates.
I looked up at her, wondering if she would read the disappointment in my eyes. Her eyes smiled into mine. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. They never left mine as she said, “Thank you, Captain, but I’m afraid my friend has promised all her dances to me this evening.”
She pulled me closer and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and found her shoulder again, my lips smiling against the soft skin of her neck. I felt her lips upon my hair and I sighed and brushed my nose and lips against her ear. I felt her sharp intake of breath, felt her hand tighten in mine, felt her let her breath out slowly in a whisper against my hair, “Deirdre…”
I clung to her, my body swaying against hers, so lost in her that I never heard the music stop.
**
We barely spoke during the walk home. The night was a little cold and we had enough money between us to take a taxi, but both of us seemed to want the cold air. I know I did. I needed it to clear my head—but I needed it more to cool my skin. It burned where it had touched hers. My fingers that had been laced with hers, my cheek where it had been pressed against her neck, my nose and lips where they had brushed against her ear…they felt hot to the touch, as if they still touched her. Part of me wanted to jump right into the snow bank along side the road and watch the steam rise. But part of me wanted to run my fingers slowly over every part of me that had touched her, wanted to feel that heat, feel her. That part of me won.
By the time we got home we were both chilled to the bone. I took off my coat and rubbed my arms. My teeth were chattering. We shared the downstairs flat. Alison’s mother lived in the upstairs flat. It was an old house and even when the heat was turned way up, most of it went upstairs or slipped under the heavy drapes and out the windows. But there was a fireplace in the parlor. And Alison’s uncle had just dropped off a load of wood on the back porch.
“Brrrr! I’ll make some cocoa if you’ll start a fire,” I suggested.
Alison was already opening the damper. “One step ahead of you, babe,” she called over her shoulder.
I smiled as I went into the kitchen. It always made me feel warm, when she said that… when she called me “babe.” I got the milk from the ice box and put some in a pan on the stove to warm it. The cocoa was on the top shelf of the cupboard. It was just beyond the reach of my fingers. I could touch it but not grab it.
“Deirdre, if you do reach it, it is going to come down on your head,” Alison said as she came in from the porch carrying an armful of wood for the fire. Give me a second and I’ll get it for you.”
I heard her drop the load of wood by the fireplace and she was back. She reached up and grabbed it easily. She was so tall compared to me. She smiled. “We really need to get a step-stool. Either that or lower the cabinets.”
I pretended to scowl at her. “My feet reach the ground, that’s all that matters.”
She looked down, her smile warming the room more than the fire would. “Barely!” she laughed. “The milk is scalding,” she said looking over my shoulder. I turned to look and she tickled the small of my back and ran into the parlor.
I jumped and laughed. I was so ticklish and she knew it. “Not fair, Alison!” I called out to her. “I’ll get even with you!” I heard her laugh. I looked at the milk. It wasn’t scalding yet. I thought of getting even with her. I thought of tickling her, thought of my fingers on her skin.
The milk was frothing over the side of the pan. “Damn it!” I exclaimed, roused from my reverie.
**
The fire was warm and inviting. We sat on the sofa, our legs stretched out in front of us, our toes reaching for the fire. My fingers were wrapped around the cup of cocoa soaking up the warmth right through the cup. I set the cup down on the table next to the couch as I watched Alison finish her cocoa. “Want another cup?”
She shook her head. “No thanks, Dee.” She leaned over, reaching across me to set her cup next to mine. I started to wonder why she hadn’t just handed it to me. But as she leaned across me, her right arm resting behind me on the sofa while her left brushed against me, I stopped wondering. I stopped thinking. I stopped breathing. I stopped doing everything. I just sat there, every nerve in my body tingling from her closeness.
It seemed like time had nearly stopped. She moved so slowly, her arm sliding across my blouse. And as she leaned back, it seemed she made a point of moving even more slowly, of letting her arm linger against me. I wondered how long it would be before I would pass out from holding my breath. But in the same thought I wondered if maybe time had stopped for me, if maybe I wasn’t holding my breath, if maybe I had actually died from her overwhelming attack on my senses.
And I let that thought wander around my head. Was this to be my heaven: the closeness of her tantalizing my nerve endings, the scent of her captivating my senses from now until the end of time? Or was it to be my hell: poised on the edge of touch, wanting to just lean forward and fall into the sweet abyss that was Alison—yet caught for eternity in this breathless moment? And I felt a feeling of repetition rush over me, felt the complete certainty that this moment had come before, that it would come again.
“Deirdre.”
Her voice was soft, barely perceptible to my stilled senses. She was staring at me. No, not really staring. She was just looking at me, but her eyes were so intense. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And they were unbearably close to mine.
As I stared back at her, my lips parted and I finally released my breath. My lips felt dry. My whole mouth was dry. I ran my tongue over my lips instinctively. I heard her catch her breath, saw a flicker in those green eyes. I reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. It was an instinctive gesture, not a considered one. If I had stopped to consider it I would have sat on my hands. But I didn’t. I didn’t consider my other hand either as it reached for her waist. I barely touched her, yet my fingers felt as if I had touched fire—I let them burn.
She ran a finger along the curve of my cheek then brushed her fingers over my lips. I felt her let her breath out slowly. Her eyes were looking straight into mine. “Deirdre…” she whispered as she leaned toward me. “Dee…” she whispered as her lips touched mine.
My hand moved slowly from her waist up her back, pulling her closer to me. Her tongue touched mine and I tasted a sweetness I could never have imagined. I let my tongue touch hers, tentatively, uncertainly. I had never been comfortable kissing Steve like that. But it was different with Alison. It felt natural, right, like…it felt like home. It felt like I had been away and had come home.
Her fingers moved down my neck, their touch light, so light I could barely feel it—yet it sent the sweetest warmth travelling through my entire body. She continued to kiss me, her lips so light against mine yet so complete in their connection to me. I moaned softly as she sucked lightly on my tongue, slowly, gently drawing it into her mouth. I felt her answering moan against my lips as my hand found the zipper of her dress. Her dress fell off her shoulders and I ran my fingers lightly over her skin. It was so soft. I just ran my fingers back and forth from her shoulder, down her back and back to her shoulder. I wanted to touch more of her skin, wanted to feel every inch of that smooth velvet.
Her lips left mine and I felt a sudden emptiness, a sudden loss of that connection. I made a sound of protest that died on my lips as her lips moved down my neck, little soft kisses barely tickling my skin, kisses as light as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. I tipped my head back and her kiss lingered at the base of my throat.
I closed my eyes, feeling as I had felt on the dance floor, feeling my body respond to her, moving in time with a music we both heard, getting completely lost in her.
Then she stood up. I opened my eyes slowly, so lost in her that it was hard to find my way back. I looked up at her. She had pushed her dress back on her shoulders, but as I met her eyes, still feeling as though my head were filled with mist, it slipped down off her left right shoulder. She looked down at me and her head tilted to one side a little, an expression almost of wonder in her beautiful eyes.
The song on the radio changed. I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places… It washed over me like a river—and I knew I had seen her before. No, obviously I had seen her before! She had been my friend since high school and I had shared her flat since Steve shipped out. It wasn’t that…it wasn’t her I had seen, and “before” wasn’t just “before”—it was BEFORE, as in another time, another place, another life. Not her, but her eyes, those beautiful green eyes. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
They narrowed a little, as if she were trying to figure something out. And I knew she was feeling the same thing I was, that sense of repetition, of familiarity.
She reached out her hand. I placed my hand in hers. I looked at them for a moment, looked at my fingers wrapped around hers and again that sense of familiarity swept over me and with it a feeling, a memory of being loved so completely it took my breath away. I heard a small sound, almost like a baby about to cry. As she drew me to my feet I heard it again. She traced the curve of my cheek with one finger, the wonder in her eyes changing to something else. She brushed her fingers over my cheek and drew me close. I could taste the tears now as they touched my lips and I realized that small sound—almost like a baby about to cry—had come from me.
She stroked my hair softly, so softly. “Deirdre?”
I didn’t look up, I just pressed closer to her. Her scent surrounded me. It was sweet and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her… I rested my head on her shoulder and pressed my face against her neck. Her hair brushed against my face, so soft and cool against my skin.
She rubbed my back, her fingers moving back and forth across my shoulders, following the rhythm of the music on the radio. I put both of my arms around her neck, my fingers tangling in her gypsy-girl hair. I felt her start to sway with the music, like she had done on the dance floor. I felt her lips press against my hair and I sighed and brushed my nose and lips against her ear. She was everywhere, she surrounded me, wrapping around me like the music, holding me in arms that made me feel so safe. That sense of recognition, of familiarity flashed through me again—but I didn’t care. I just let myself get lost in her, let everything else in the world just fade away.
**
The morning sun tickled my eyes, teasing me awake, coaxing me from my dreams—like the brush of her fingers against my cheek. But at the same time, it warmed my skin, holding me in my sleep, making me feel safe and loved—like her arms wrapped around me.
I sighed and opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the light. She was still asleep, one arm across my stomach, her lips trembling slightly from her breath, her hair—her wild gypsy girl hair—falling over her face. I watched her for a few moments, watched the morning sun play with the fall of light and shadows across her beautiful face. I could tell the sun tickled her eyes, too. I could see her eyelids flutter, could see her nose start to twitch. Soon she would open her eyes, her beautiful eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And she would open them and they would smile at me with a light that would cast the sun into darkness.
I brushed a strand of hair back from her face and pressed my lips lightly against her forehead. I couldn’t believe my own happiness. I felt light and gay, like a summer’s day. I smiled and the words drifted through my head, the words of the song that had played that first night we lay in each others’ arms:
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I just wanted this feeling to go on forever. I wanted to wake up in her arms for the rest of my life. I wanted nothing to come between us, not Danny, not Steve. I never wanted Steve to come home.
A shadow drifted across her face, a deep, black shadow that stole all the light away from her. I looked up and saw Steve. He had come home! He was staring at me, his eyes hollow, empty, yet his face a mask of accusation. And I saw his mouth open as if to speak, and a cry of agony and hopelessness, a cry of betrayal shattered my dreams. “Why?”
I woke up, my whole body shaking. I heard the cry again and looked across the room to see Tommy standing in his crib crying. I looked down on the floor and saw Slumber Pup on the floor. I took a deep breath. “Hang on, honey, mommy will get that for you sweetheart.” I ran my hand over the empty pillow next to mine, whispered a silent “Good Morning” to the rumpled blankets and got up to rescue Slumber Pup.
**
She reached across the table and ran a finger along the line of my cheek. “What’s the matter, Dee? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
I hadn’t. Not since that night. Not since the song had ended. Not since she had looked into my eyes and smiled that slightly sad smile, that smile that told me she understood everything.
“I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” I looked down. I didn’t want to look at her. I knew she could always see what I was thinking. She had always understood me completely—and I knew that “always” extended back as far as the beginning of everything.
She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. I ached as her fingers wrapped around mine. “You want to talk about it, babe?” It always made me feel so warm all over when she called me babe. But this time it made my stomach flip. How could I tell her? I couldn’t. Not now. Not after she had smiled that slightly sad smile, that smile that told me she understood everything, that smile that told me everything I didn’t want to understand.
I shook my head. “It’s nothing, Alison. Just thinking about Steve, that’s all.” It wasn’t quite a lie. I had been thinking about Steve, thinking about how I wished he wouldn’t come home.
She slipped a hand under my chin and raised my face to look at her. Her eyes were soft, her smile even softer. I wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to brush my fingers over her lips. “He’ll be home soon, honey. Now that the Germans have surrendered, they’ll start bringing our boys in the Atlantic home.” Her eyes flickered and I knew she was thinking of Danny. I felt a sudden stab of jealousy. If Danny didn’t come home then there would be no reason… I stopped myself, tears forming in my eyes. How could I even THINK that? Alison loved Danny! How could I be so selfish to wish him dead so she would love me instead?
She got up and had her arms around me in an instant. “It’s alright, babe.” Her voice was gentle—and soft, like her lips. “They’ll both be home soon.” She laughed. “And they’ll both make fun of us for being such gooses to cry over them when they are perfectly fine and probably drinking it up in some bar right now.” But she didn’t wipe the tears from my eyes, she just held me tightly, pressing her lips softly against my hair.
I just clung to her and let my tears flow. She was right. They both would be home soon…
**
“I think Tommy is going to be a drummer!” Alison laughed as Tommy sat in the middle of the kitchen floor banging on a pot with a wooden spoon.
I laughed too. Alison’s laugh was catching, as was her smile. I looked at Tommy. Steve wouldn’t recognize him. Well, of course he wouldn’t. He had never seen him except for the picture I had sent him soon after Tommy was born. But he had Steve’s curly brown hair and brown eyes. There was no mistaking the Wallace look. But he had my sense of rhythm—poor boy! If he were going to be a drummer when he grew up, there would have to be a lot of miracles between now and then.
Alison reached down and picked him up, pot and spoon and all, and sat him in his high chair. “I swear, Dee, he weighs almost as much as you do already!” She laughed as he poked her with the spoon and called her “Annie Allie.”
I smiled. “He is Steve all over.” He was, too. He would probably grow up to be just like Steve: Tall, muscular, handsome…shallow, insensitive, distant.
I sighed and finished making Tommy’s oatmeal. I added a little sugar, some milk and a little butter. I gave him his bowl and his spoon and sat down at the table. I smiled as I watched him eat. Tommy was doing pretty well, but he needed to be watched or the kitchen would turn into a big bowl of oatmeal. He would end up with oatmeal all over his hands and his face as it was, but I didn’t mind that. As my mother had always told me, everything washes off.
I sighed. Everything washes off. Except Evening in Paris. It was sensual, sweet. It was her scent. Danny bought it for her. I could still smell it, clinging to my arms, to my clothes from when she had held me this morning. That scent never quite washed off. It was always right on the edge of my senses.
The doorbell rang. I shook my head, a little relieved to have my thoughts interrupted. But Alison stood up. "I’ll get it, Dee. You stay with our Little Drummer Boy.”
I watched her as she left the room. Why was everything that was so right so wrong? If only… No, I wasn’t going to wish that again. I leaned my head on my hand.
I looked up. Alison was standing in the doorway, her face was like ashes. My heart stopped. “There’s a telegram…” I looked in her hands; they were empty. My heart started beating again. It wasn’t Danny. Thank God it wasn’t Danny. But that would mean…
I couldn’t move. I just sat there staring at her. She turned and went back to the front door. She brought the delivery boy back with her.
“Mrs. Steven Wallace?” His face was nearly as ashen as Alison’s. I nodded. “I just need you to sign…”
He held out a piece of paper to me. I took it, but I was staring at his other hand, the one that held the telegram. I looked around absently for a pen and one seemed to appear like magic in my hand. I glanced at the paper and wrote something that looked like it could have been written by Tommy. I couldn’t take my eyes off his other hand. It seemed to grow in size, seemed to fill the room. That hand was trembling as he handed IT to me.
I looked up and saw that he was looking at Tommy and then at me. And I wondered how many times he had done that before, had looked from a mother to a baby and back to the mother as he handed her the telegram… I thought, by the look on his face, that the answer would probably be “too many times.”
I reached for my purse, but his look of horror stopped me. I knew he wouldn’t accept a tip, not for delivering THAT telegram. I smiled at him. I could feel my lips trembling. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear and left. IT was still in my hand.
It was still in my hand when Alison came back. I didn’t even realize she had left. She sat down next to me. I looked up at her. “I can’t open it.” My voice didn’t sound like me at all. It sounded like someone else.
She took the telegram from me and opened it. I didn’t need to look at it. I didn’t need to see the words. I read them on her face. I had read them on the delivery boy’s face.
She put her arms around me and I buried my face in her shoulder and cried. I cried for Steve who would never get to hold his son. I cried for Tommy who would never get to play ball with his dad. But mostly I cried for myself. But they weren’t tears of grief or sadness. I had wished Steve wouldn’t come home. Be careful what you wish for—you might get it. I cried because my wish had come true.
**
The morning sun tickled my eyes, teasing me awake, coaxing me from my dreams—like the brush of her fingers against my cheek. But at the same time, it warmed my skin, holding me in my sleep, making me feel safe and loved—like her arms wrapped around me.
I sighed and opened my eyes slowly, blinking away the light. She was still asleep, one arm across my stomach, her lips trembling slightly from her breath, her hair—her wild gypsy girl hair—falling over her face.
No! I woke myself up. I looked over at Tommy. He was still sound asleep in his crib. I got up and walked over to the window. It was barely dawn, but already there was a stickiness in the air that would only get worse. And the heaviness in the air didn’t help lighten the heaviness in my heart.
Danny had called yesterday morning. He was home, well, he had called from the train station in Denver. He was on his way home. Would be here this evening. My sister and brother-in-law Bob were coming to get me this afternoon. I would be able to stay with them until everything with Steve’s insurance and everything else was straightened out. Then I would go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Maybe New York. And maybe I would stop having the dreams…
I sighed. I needed to pack. It wasn’t like there was much to pack. Steve and I hadn’t even set up house together. We had been married one day and he had shipped out three days later. And we had stayed in a hotel for those three days. Most of the things I had were Tommy’s. I looked through the closet. There really wasn’t much of Steve’s here. I ran my hand over one of his shirts. I should have felt…something. But I didn’t. I didn’t love Steve. I had never loved Steve. I knew that from the moment I first looked into her eyes. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. And from the moment I had looked into those eyes, from the moment I had felt that sense of repetition, of having looked into those eyes many times before, I had known it was Alison that I loved.
**
“But I don’t understand why you have to leave!” Alison cried. She literally cried, tears streaming down her face.
I looked at her, my eyes pleading for understanding, pleading with her to not make me put it into words. “Danny is coming home. Tommy and I will only be in the way, Alison. You know that.” I smiled. It was forced—and I knew she could see that. “Besides, Julie is due any day now and really could use some help around the house. And I haven’t seen her in way too long.”
“Deirdre…” There was a soft plea in her voice. I looked into her eyes. The plea was there also. She reached out and traced the line of my cheek with one finger. Why did she always have to do that? I closed my eyes refusing to release the tears that stung the back of my eyes. I would NOT cry. Not this time. She put her arms around me and pulled me close. “Deirdre, you know I…”
I stopped her. I pressed my lips against hers and stopped the words before they could fall from her soft, incredibly soft lips. I didn’t want to hear them. They wouldn’t change anything. They would only make it hurt worse.
I felt her sigh and my fingers tangled in her hair—in her gypsy-girl hair—letting the silken strands slip through my fingers. I turned and pressed my face against her hair. Her scent surrounded me. It was sweet and sensual. Evening in Paris. Danny had bought it for her… Danny…
The front door opened and we both started. “Danny!” Alison yelled. She was in his arms in an instant.
“Alison, baby!” He picked her up and swung her around, his eyes never leaving her.
I stood there, my throat tightening. I looked at the clock. Julie and Bob would be here to pick me up in about half an hour. Danny wasn’t supposed to be home until later. I was supposed to be gone by then. I had wanted to be gone by then.
Alison looked over Danny’s shoulder and her eyes met mine. They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite. I saw the slight sadness in them. Even though I knew she was as happy at this moment as she had ever been in her life, there was that slight sadness of understanding, a slight sadness of regret.
I just smiled reassuringly and turned away. I couldn’t keep looking into those eyes. I knew I couldn’t ever look into those eyes again without her seeing that my heart was breaking in two. And even if it was, and even if I knew she knew that, I still didn’t want her to see that.
I picked up Tommy and held him close. He was all I had left of Steve. Not that I had ever had much of Steve. But he was all I had left now. I looked at the clock. Julie and Bob would be here soon. There was no point in my staying any longer.
As I walked toward the back door, I saw the small bottle of perfume on the bureau. A little blue bottle. Evening in Paris. Danny had given it to her. It was her scent. It clung to everything she touched. I ran a hand across my eyes, wiping away the tears that I knew would never stop once they started. Evening in Paris. It still clung to me, to every part of me she had touched and held so tightly only a few moments ago.
I glanced over my shoulder. It was a quick glance. I didn’t want to meet her eyes again. But I didn’t have to worry—her eyes were only for Danny. Her eyes… They were green. Not the green of an emerald. Not a cliched green. They were a dark green, almost going to blue, but not quite.
I picked up the bottle of Evening in Paris and held it against my heart, before slipping it into my purse and walking out the back door.
I'll find you in the mornin' sun
And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon
But I'll be seeing you
I tossed fitfully, the melody of a song streaming through my head. But it wasn’t a song I wanted to remember. I wanted to move as far away from that song as possible. It filled me with a sense of things incomplete, unresolved. My stomach turned as my body tossed. It was all wrong. But even as the melody drove me away, her scent wound around me, surrounding me, teasing me, calling me back with the promise of her warm embrace. And I longed to surrender to that scent, to fall into to those arms it promised. It was all I wanted, all I ached for. And I reached toward them—but they pushed me away.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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