Can't Stop Loving You (18 page)

Sterile. Comfortless. Empty.

Marsha busied in from the sitting room, took
one look at the mess, shook her head, and began to organize the
packing.

Dear Marsha. What would Helen ever do without
her?

Tears clogged the back of Helen’s throat. She
tried to swallow them, but they wouldn’t go down. Besides that, her
knees felt rubbery and her head hurt.

Tired of being strong, sick of putting on a
front, she sank to the middle of the floor and wailed like a
homesick puppy.

Marsha went into the bathroom and came back
with a handful of tissues; then she went about packing and let
Helen have her cry.

Helen dabbed at her eyes, sniffing.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

“If you’d asked me in the first place, we
wouldn’t be here. We’d be at home sitting in the sunshine instead
of trying to avoid being mugged every time we step out on the
streets. And we for sure wouldn’t be fixing to traipse off to some
other godforsaken city so you can wear yourself ragged up on a
stage.”

“That’s what I do, Marsha. I’m an
actress.”

“You’re a married actress. If you ask me,
this is no way to conduct a marriage.” Marsha straightened a stack
of skirts, shaking them out so hard, the fabric made snapping
noises.

“Brick understands. He’s an actor.”

“He’s a man. I don’t claim to be an expert on
this subject, Lord knows, ornery old cuss that I am. But I figure a
man like Brick Sullivan needs a woman in his bed.”

“He would never betray me.”

“I didn’t say he would, didn’t even
think
it. I said he needs a woman in his bed.” She shook
out a blouse with unnecessary vigor. “And I’m wondering how come
it’s been so long since you’ve been there. Not that it’s any of my
business.”

“Eight weeks is not a long time to be on the
road.”

“Balderdash.”

“You don’t have to go with me to Seattle,
Marsha. I can manage fine on my own.”

“You can’t find your way out of a paper sack
on your own. You may be brilliant on the stage, but when it comes
to dealing with practical matters, you’re a babe in the woods.”

“You’re too go..ood to me.”

A fresh gale of tears overtook her, and she
padded to the bathroom to get some more tissue. When she got back
Marsha was posed with arms akimbo and that
I’m-not-taking-any-more-of- this-nonsense look on her face.

“Look at you,” Marsha said. “You’re worn to a
frazzle. What I want to know is how come it’s so all-fired
important to do that play in Seattle. Why don’t you take a break?
Go home and be with Brick for a few weeks.”

“Brick’s not home. He’s in New Yo..ork.”

Helen broke down once more. Alarmed, Marsha
went into the bathroom and got a wet cloth for her face.

“You’re going to make yourself sick with all
this crying.” She washed Helen’s face, then made her lie on the bed
with the washcloth over her forehead. “You may already be
sick.”

“I do have a headache.”

“I don’t wonder, with all this flitting
around from pillar to post. I’ll bet you don’t even know what day
it is.”

“Sunday.” Helen gave her a rueful grin. “I
only know because I did my last performance tonight.”

“Sunday the what?”

“Eighteenth? Twenty-fifth?”

“See... You’re working so hard, you don’t
even know the date. What you need is a break.”

“I promise I’ll take a break soon,
Marsha.”

“When?”

Helen pressed the cloth to her head. It was a
good question. One she couldn’t even answer herself. The last time
she’d tried to arrange a break, Brick had been tied up in Boston.
Then when he’d tried to arrange for them to meet, she’d had to stay
over in Tampa.

They’d joked about it on the phone.

“Guess you’ve already forgotten what I look
like,” he’d said when their plans to meet in Jackson Hole had been
canceled.

“You’ve probably found a new leading lady,”
she’d joked when their plans to meet back home for a few days had
been ditched because of conflicting schedules.

But was it their schedules that kept them
apart? Or was it something else?

A vivid mental picture of Brick at Matt’s
wedding came to her.

Helen didn’t even want to think about that
right now. All she wanted to do was ease her headache.

“As soon as I do the next show, Marsha,” she
said.

Or maybe the next. Or the next.

o0o

Angelica had never seen Brick so still. He
sat on the sofa trying to look relaxed with his feet stretched out
on the coffee table, but she knew better. His body was stiff as a
poker.

“I’ve decided to do
Macbeth
in
Boston,” he said.

“What about Helen? Will she do Lady
Macbeth?”

There was a quick flash of something in his
eyes, something Angelica couldn’t read. But she knew him well
enough to guess, knew both of them.

There was trouble in paradise. And she didn’t
like it. Not one little bit.

“No. She’s going to be in San Francisco. Or
is it Seattle?”

“You don’t even know where your own wife is.”
It was not a question but a statement. Angelica stood, smoothing
down her skirt. She perched on the front of her desk and fixed him
with a motherly look. “I’m just going to say this once, Brick.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t say it at all. I don’t
like the look on your face.”

“I don’t have a look on my face.”

“Yes, you do. It’s your cross between
Godzilla and Mother Teresa.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He quirked one eyebrow at
her and treated her to his famous grin.

“I won’t be sidetracked by your charm.”

“Am I charming?”

“Millions of people think you are. At the
moment I think you’re foolish.”

“Is that a personal opinion or a professional
one?”

“Furthermore, I think you’re running
scared.”

“I’m not scared of the devil.”

“What about your wife? Are you scared of
her?”

Brick left the sofa and stalked to the
window. Angelica had hit a nerve. Ramming his hands deep into his
pockets, he looked out over the city. Summertime in New York.

And Helen was... Angelica was right: He
didn’t even know where his own wife was.

“Maybe I am, Angelica... but I don’t seem to
know what to do about it.” He turned back from the window. “Any
ideas?”

Angelica was as pleased as if he’d given her
a priceless gift. She’d always felt maternal toward Brick. She knew
his background, knew he had grown up in an orphanage, knew he had
no one to turn to for motherly advice. It pleased her to think that
he would turn to her. It even made up for all the emptiness in her
own life, the fiancé that somehow never got around to taking her
down the aisle, the empty years of waiting for somebody else to
come along, the sudden realization that even if he did, she was too
old for children.

“Why don’t you hold off on accepting
Macbeth?
Take some time off. Call Helen and ask her to do
the same thing.”

Brick stood with his hands in his pockets,
rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Well?” Angelica said.

“Damned if I’m not scared. What do you
suppose that means?”

“I think it’s a good sign.”

“Of what?”

“That I’m right.”

He grinned. “I guess you want to celebrate
with champagne.”

“I can’t think of a better occasion. I’ll go
get the bottle.”

While she was gone, Brick stared out the
window. He knew she was right. He and Helen couldn’t spend the rest
of their lives onstage in different cities. He had to see her
again.
Needed
to see her.

But what if she didn’t want to see him?

As soon as he got back to his hotel he took
down Helen’s itinerary. Looking at her schedule, he realized that
something was dreadfully wrong with a marriage when a husband had
to have an itinerary to locate his wife.

Picking up the phone, he dialed her hotel in
Seattle. She’d be checking in late that night.

“This is Brick Sullivan. I’d like to leave a
message for...”

“Sir? Who is the message for?”

He didn’t want to converse with his wife via
messenger; he wanted to do it personally. Suddenly it occurred to
Brick how very much he wanted to see his wife, how very foolish he
had been to stay away all this rime.

“No one,” he said. “No messages.” What he had
to say could only be said in person.

o0o

Helen had never been airsick before. And the
plane wasn’t even off the ground. It sat on the runway, held by
thunderstorms that swept through Dallas.

Locked in the tiny bathroom on the plane, she
bent over the toilet, her face sweaty and her stomach heaving.

Maybe Marsha was right. Maybe she needed a
break.

She ran water over a paper towel and pressed
it to her face and neck, then returned to her seat.

“Are you okay?” Marsha squeezed her hand.

“I’m fine... Don’t give me that look. It’s
lack of sleep, that’s all.”

The plane taxied slowly behind a long line of
jets awaiting takeoff. The intercom crackled, and the pilot came on
the air.

“Another short delay, folks. Sorry about
that. We should be taking off in another hour.”

“Hmph. He said that two hours ago. Why we
can’t just go back to the terminal and...”

Marsha was suddenly talking to thin air as
Helen raced back toward the toilet.

Helen leaned against the tiny sink, splashing
water on her face. Dripping, she came up and stared at herself in
the wavery mirror. She looked like a ghost. And she felt even
worse. She was so tired.

How long had she been on the road? Eight
weeks. It was enough to make anybody tired.

Eight weeks since she’d seen Brick, not
counting the brief encounter at Matt’s wedding. Eight weeks since
they’d shared a home, a meal, a bed. Eight weeks...

Helen pressed her hands over her abdomen. She
was pregnant. She didn’t need early pregnancy tests and doctors to
tell her. She
knew.
She was going to have a baby.

Joy filled her. A baby. A little girl who
would wear frilly dresses and pink hair ribbons. A little angel who
would have tea parties in the backyard and impromptu piano recitals
in the den. A little doll with her long legs and Brick’s eyes.

Brick.
Helen groaned. How would she
ever tell Brick?

She saw him as he had been at Matt’s wedding,
the quick smile, the easy charm, the carefree manner.

Brick’s too smart to saddle himself with
children, right?

Right,
Brick had said.

A wave of nausea hit Helen once more, and she
bent over the toilet, heaving. When the sickness passed, she
wrapped her arms protectively around her abdomen and leaned against
the wall.

What was she going to do?

Brick paced the airport like a crazy man.
Chance had put him in Seattle before Helen—chance and bad
weather.

Thunderstorms. He didn’t want to think of
Helen caught in a plane in a thunderstorm.

Think of something else
.

Think of what he would say to her when he saw
her. This time he had to do it right. No more postponing. No more
getting sidetracked. No more running.

He checked the monitor for the hundredth
time. Helen’s plane was finally scheduled for arrival. He had time
for a quick snack before she was due to land.

Sitting at a cramped table with the soup and
sandwich he’d ordered, he realized he couldn’t possibly eat. How
could he eat when his stomach was tied in knots?

He dumped the food in the garbage can and
made his way toward her gate. A huge crowd had lined up to meet the
plane. Brick tried to get closer, but short of stepping over
bodies, there was nothing he could do except hang around at the
back of the crowd.

A cheer went up from the crowd when the jet
from Dallas landed. Brick watched over the heads of the crowd as
passengers began to deplane. He saw Marsha first, and then
Helen.

“Helen,” he called to her, waving to attract
her attention.

She didn’t see him. He tried to get through
the crush of people but forward movement was impossible.

Craning his neck to see her over the crowd,
Brick began a lateral movement that would put him on a collision
course with his wife.

She looked pale from her long ordeal on the
plane. She was thinner too. He knew Helen. Sometimes when she was
on the road she didn’t take the time to eat properly.

He should have been at her side, taking care
of her. What kind of husband paraded around onstage in strange
cities while his wife got pale and thin?

She was coming out of the crowd now, headed
for the baggage claim.

“Helen!”

Her head jerked around. She went even paler.
There was no welcome smile on her face, no welcome light in her
eyes.

For a moment he wasn’t certain she would even
stop. Fear mingled with joy as he hurried toward her. She clutched
her carryon bag as if it were a life raft.

“Brick... what are you doing in Seattle?”

“I came to see my wife.” She was stiff in his
embrace. And damned if she didn’t offer her cheek instead of her
lips.

Wounded pride replaced both joy and fear.

“Happy to see me, Helen?”

“Surprised.”

She pulled out of his embrace and moved
toward the escalators that would take them down to the baggage
claim area. He fell into step beside her.

“You don’t have to go with me. Marsha and I
can manage this.”

“I’m going.”

“Suit yourself.”

Marsha rolled her eyes but kept her silence.
That was the thing he’d always admired about her; she never butted
in, never took sides.

They lined up on the escalators, Marsha in
front, Helen behind her, then Brick. His wife’s shoulders were as
stiff as if they’d been set in concrete.