An Elm Creek Quilts Sampler (115 page)

She reached over and squeezed Lindsay’s hand, then raced toward home with her most precious cargo.

“Did she call the police?” Adam asked. Robby had long since gone to bed, and Megan and Adam were sitting in front of the fire Adam had built to ward off the cold from a spell of frigid temperatures that had descended that last week of January.

“I don’t think so.” Megan stretched and settled back against him, enjoying the comfort of his arms and the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “She says Lindsay refuses to say anything against him. Donna probably thinks it’s enough that she was able to convince Lindsay not to accept his phone calls.”

“While Lindsay’s at home that might be fine, but what about when she goes back to school?”

“She’s on special leave, so that won’t be until August.” Megan remembered how relieved and happy Donna had been when Lindsay agreed to return to school. Now, only a semester later, Lindsay had been compelled to withdraw, and for reasons none of them ever could have predicted. “Maybe they think it will all blow over by then.”

“I hope they’re right,” Adam said, but he sounded doubtful. He kissed Megan and added, “I’d better go.”

“Already?”

He stroked her arm. “Unless you want me to stay.”

Megan knew he meant stay the entire night, but she couldn’t agree to it, not with Robby there. Robby might not mind finding Adam at the breakfast table the next morning—in fact, he would probably be pleased—but Megan wasn’t comfortable with such casual overnight arrangements. She didn’t want to make an implicit promise to either of them, and for her, allowing Adam to stay the night implied an understanding, a commitment. Although Megan was confident and hopeful that they were headed in that direction, she was content to wait. They had all been through too much heartache not to proceed carefully now, and they were happy, so she felt no urgency to hasten into anything before she and Adam were both certain the time was right.

So she shook her head and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, and kissed her. “I understand.”

He did understand, and he accepted her feelings and her right to them without judgment or complaint, which was one of the reasons she loved him.

She went with him to the door, and as he was putting on his coat, she said, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to give you your key back. I accidentally left it in my purse that day you were sick.”

“Keep it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Adam smiled and touched her face. “I’ll see you next week.”

After one last embrace, Adam went outside into the cold. He waved before getting into the car; Megan waved back before shutting the door against the bitter night air. She shook her head and smiled at herself for being so pleased that he wanted her to have his key. He lived far enough away that she would never be in the neighborhood and able to drop by unannounced, so she would probably never use the key unless Adam locked himself out. But somehow it touched her, as if in giving her his key he meant to show how much he trusted her, and how he expected them to be together for the long term.

The next morning when Megan checked her email, she found a message that Adam had sent the night before:

TO:[email protected]

FROM:[email protected].

DATE: 12:43 AM 23 January

SUBJECT: Missing you

When I came home I thought of how much nicer it would be if we were together. Now that you have the key, every morning when I wake up, I’ll open my eyes hoping to find you here.

I love you, Megan.

Megan wanted to write back that she loved him, too, but she had never told him so before, and the first time she said those words to him, she wanted it to be in person.

January passed with bitter cold and heavy snows and no end to Brandon’s phone calls. Lindsay flinched whenever the phone rang, and refused to read her email unless Donna or Becca downloaded it first and deleted Brandon’s messages. Or so she said—twice Donna had entered Lindsay’s room only to find her seated at the computer, her face wet with tears. She would jump in her seat at her mother’s approach and quickly shut down the computer before Donna could see what she was doing. It made Donna sick at heart to think that Lindsay was still in contact with the man who had treated her so brutally, and it troubled her even more when Lindsay would not say for certain whether she had broken off the engagement.

This infuriated Paul, and he implored Lindsay to press charges against Brandon for striking her. “If he had been a stranger on the street,” he stormed when he and Donna were alone, “there wouldn’t be any question of protecting him like this.”

Donna tried to soothe him by emphasizing that at least they had separated the couple and Lindsay was safe in their home. Privately she thought that Lindsay’s refusal to go to the police was only in part to protect Brandon, and partially to protect herself. For weeks Lindsay had drifted about the house gingerly, as if she thought she might shatter from the impact of a stray thought or harsh word. The young woman who had been so willing to forgo her education the previous summer now seemed to consider her decision to withdraw from the semester as evidence that she had failed her parents and herself. It didn’t matter that Paul and Donna supported her choice. Lindsay had retreated into a world of her own, and Donna feared the old Lindsay might be lost to them forever.

But as the days passed, Lindsay gradually lost the haunted look in her eyes, and by the end of February she had resumed some of her usual interests. She went out with old high school friends who had remained in town; she visited the public library often to check out books on stagecraft and filmmaking. She rented videos of stage plays, which she and Donna would watch together and discuss. Each day brought a new, positive change in Lindsay’s behavior, and only infrequently did Donna hear her crying in her room.

Then one gray morning, when Donna and Lindsay were alone in the house, Donna heard a car pull into the driveway. There was no mistaking the car, or the young man who jumped out of it and strode purposefully toward the house.

Donna hurried to the door, glancing up the stairs to Lindsay’s bedroom and praying that she had been too engrossed in her reading to have heard the car. The doorbell rang, and before she could respond, a fist pounded on the door. “Lindsay,” she heard Brandon shout. “Lindsay, it’s me. Let me in.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Donna shouted back.

A pause, and then, louder, “Lindsay, it’s Brandon.”

Donna checked to be sure the chain was fastened before opening the door a crack. “I said, she doesn’t want to see you.”

Brandon glared at her, his face pale with outrage. “Then let me hear it from her.”

Donna heard Lindsay’s door open and the faint creak of her footfall on the stairs. “I’m going to shut this door,” Donna said, “and you’re going to get in your car and drive away. If you don’t, I’ll call the police.”

To her shock, instead of backing off, Brandon shoved the door, straining at the chain. “I know she’s in there. Lindsay,” he shouted. “We’re supposed to get married in a few months. Talk to me.”

“If you have something to say to my daughter, you can say it to me.” Donna glanced over her shoulder to find that Lindsay had not descended past the top step.

“I need to talk to her alone.”

“That,” Donna said fiercely, “is one thing I will never allow.”

Brandon swore and gave the door another hard shove before stepping back and raking his fingers through his hair. “You can’t keep me away from her. We love each other. We won’t let you come between us.”

“She isn’t coming back to you, Brandon.”

“That’s her choice, not yours,” he shot back. “And she’ll choose me.”

“Stay away from Lindsay,” Donna’s voice was clear and emphatic and trembling with anger. She closed the door. “Stay away from my family.”

“She’ll choose me, and do you know why?” Brandon shouted through the door. “Because she doesn’t have anything else, and she knows it. You hear me? She knows it!”

Donna carefully locked the door and forced herself to walk away, back to the kitchen, where she watched through the curtains as Brandon paced around the front porch for a while, until he threw up his hands in frustration, stormed back to his car, and sped off.

Valentine’s Day fell on a Sunday that year, but Adam invited Megan out for the preceding Saturday night instead. After spending the afternoon ice skating with Robby, Adam hurried home for a quick shower and a change of clothes, then returned with roses and a box of chocolates for Megan. She laughed but seemed pleased, and Adam saw as if for the first time how beautiful she was, not just because she had dressed up for the occasion, but because when she was happy, she glowed with an inner light. He was drawn to her anew each time he glimpsed it, and it made him never want to leave her side.

When they took Robby to her parents’ house, Megan invited him in to meet them. They were down-to-earth, pleasant people, and Adam saw in them the source of Megan’s common sense and good humor. He liked them, and to his relief, they seemed to like him.

The evening went as perfectly as Adam could have wished. The restaurant was romantic, the food delicious, and Megan such lovely company that for long moments he could do nothing more than marvel at how lucky he was and how blessed by the circumstances that had brought them together. Afterward Megan invited him home, as he had hoped she would; when he kissed her and told her he loved her and she returned the sentiment, he was so overcome with happiness that he held her close and wished he never had to let her go.

He longed to spend the night rather than return to the loneliness of his empty house, but Megan gently reminded him that her parents were expecting them to pick up Robby. “He could have stayed overnight,” she said, chiding herself. “But I didn’t plan … this.”

He kissed her and said, “Some of the best things in life don’t happen according to plan.” She smiled at him then in a way that left him overcome with desire, but her family was waiting. After retrieving Robby and seeing the two safely to the door, Adam kissed Megan one last time, then drove home alone.

In the morning he woke from dreams of Megan to early sunlight spilling in through the windows. Something had roused him, and as the sleepy cloudiness left him, he heard it again: a rapping on the front door. Groggy, he padded to the door wearing only his pajama bottoms. Fumbling with the lock, he opened the door—and found Natalie standing on the front porch, smiling at him.

“Natalie,” he said, suddenly conscious of the cold. “What are you doing here?”

She held up a paper bag from a coffee shop they used to frequent together. “I brought breakfast. Bagels and cappuccino.” Then she brought out a hand from behind her back and held out a single red rose. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He didn’t take it. “Natalie—”

“Those pajamas have a top, you know,” she said, eyeing his attire. “I should know. I bought them for you.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “So are you going to let me in or what?”