Chloe (24 page)
Minnie reached over and took Kitty’s hand and teased, “What are you doing here, Kitty? I know you like handsome doctors, but couldn’t you think of an easier way to meet some new ones?”
Kitty chuckled weakly. “I do have a cute one. I’m going to get well and then he better watch out.”
Suddenly, Chloe couldn’t stand the little room any longer. Kitty and Minnie were still in each other’s lives, while Chloe was not. “I’m going for a little walk, now that Minnie’s here,” she excused herself and walked out of the room without a backward glance.
Minnie knew her too well, that was the problem. She’d finally asked point blank why Chloe had ended up in Washington with her father. Chloe had gone there ostensibly to help the troops. But the war had been over for years now. She’d told herself that she stayed so her daughter wouldn’t be the center of her grandparent’s war. But the real answer was she’d had nowhere else to go. For a few seconds when Minnie had come in, Chloe had felt the old call to her former self, that naïve child who’d run away to marry a dashing soldier and the innocent who’d become a model on Fifth Avenue. But it had waned almost immediately. Minnie and Kitty had gotten what they’d wanted. She hadn’t.
Our lives are what they are. I’ll be thirty next year. It’s too late for me.
Toward the end of the day, a young woman entered Kitty’s room. Roarke rose. “Miss Talbot.”
Chloe and Roarke had been sitting in total silence most of the afternoon. Each moment that passed had brought back the gap between them. Now Chloe looked up from the bedside chair. She found Miss Talbot studying her from under a very severe brown-felt hat. There was something repelling in the other woman’s perusal of her and Chloe lifted one eyebrow.
“Chloe, this is Miss Edna Talbot, my secretary,” Roarke made the introduction. “Edna, this is . . . Kitty’s good friend, Mrs. Chloe Black.”
Chloe only nodded. She didn’t like Miss Edna Talbot. She’d heard of taking an instant dislike to someone, but it had never happened to her before. Why now?
“A pleasure, Mrs. Black,” Miss Talbot said, not sounding pleased at all. Then she turned to Roarke. “I had some papers that needed your signature and couldn’t wait indefinitely.”
“Sorry you had to make the trip here.” Roarke took the papers from her.
“Mr. Ward said he hopes your sister will be well soon.”
“Which means he doesn’t want me to take off any more time.”
“Roarke,” Chloe said, “I’m not leaving New York until Kitty’s better.” It was uncomfortable being alone with Roarke and trying to act as if it didn’t bother her. “Why don’t I sit with her during your work hours and then you come in the evenings?”
“No, I don’t want to leave her.”
“Roarke, the doctor said this will take time.” Chloe leaned toward him. She’d say anything for a reprieve from Roarke’s brooding silence, from Miss Talbot’s disapproving stare. “I’ll call you at the office if anything develops. It’s not that far, only a short taxi ride.”
Roarke stared at her, his face showing his struggle. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m here to help. Let me,” she pleaded.
Roarke visibly pulled himself together and nodded. “Okay. Edna, let’s go back to the office and see what we can do in the final hours of the office day.” He waved the secretary out before him. Just as she passed through the door, Miss Talbot looked back at Chloe. Again, she was sizing up Chloe and this time Chloe recognized the expression. Edna Talbot was assessing Chloe as a rival—a rival for Roarke. At this absurdity, Chloe didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
That evening, Chloe walked through the door of her room at the Benjamin. She kicked off her shoes and began unbuttoning her dress. She just wanted to take a bath, wash off all the bad odors from the hospital, and then order room service. But first she paused at the bedside phone. Within minutes she’d arranged a call to D.C. to her father’s house. The maid answered.
“Hello, Mavis. Is my father there?”
“Yes, ma’am, here he is.”
“Chloe, how’s the McCaslin girl?” her father boomed.
“Not good at all. She’s all puffy and yellow.”
“The doc’s sure it’s from bad booze?”
“I’m afraid so. He suspects liver damage.”
“That’s awful, sugar. I always liked Kitty.”
Chloe didn’t appreciate his tone. He spoke of Kitty as if it were a foregone conclusion that she would die.
“You got a call this afternoon, honey, from the orphanage.”
“Oh, no.” Chloe sank onto the bed. “Oh, no. It was Jamie’s birthday and I forgot to call and tell them I’d been called out of town.”
“The maid told them where you were and Miss Jones said not to worry, just visit when you returned. She said Jamie was askin’ for you. Sugar, do you think it’s right to keep so . . . close with an orphan?”
She’d had this conversation with her father before. Contrary to what he always said—that he didn’t want her hurt when someone adopted Jamie—she knew he was afraid she might want to adopt the boy. Her father didn’t want “someone’s brat” as an heir.
“Don’t worry about me,” Chloe said automatically, glancing at the bedside clock. It was only a little after seven. “Daddy, would you please ask Jackson to check my appointment book and call everyone I was supposed to meet with this week and give them my regrets?”
“Already done. Stay as long as you need to, honey. But remember I count on you. I need you here.”
She ignored this statement. She wondered at times if her father really needed her. But wasn’t it too late now to go over this? She’d been in D.C. over a decade.
She shook herself back to the present. “Thank Jackson for me.” She knew her father wanted to talk longer, but she cut him off. “I’m so tired and hungry. I’ll call you soon. Bye.”
She dialed the operator again and put through a call to the orphanage. After a brief exchange with Miss Jones and a long wait, Jamie’s uncertain voice came over the line. “Mrs. Black?” His voice sounded small and sad.
“Jamie, yes, it’s me. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to come today. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Miss Jones says your friend is sick.”
“Yes, she is, dear, and I have to stay with her and help her get better.”
“Are you coming back?” Again fear etched each word.
“Yes, as soon as I can, dear.”
Silence.
“You believe me, don’t you, Jamie? It can’t be helped.”
“I know. I just miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” Chloe felt her throat closing up.
“Miss Jones says this call is costing you lots of money and I should hang up.”
“Good night, Jamie. I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.”
Chloe put the receiver back in the cradle and wrapped her arms around herself. Why did she feel closer to an orphan child than her own daughter?
The phone in her hotel room rang in the dark hours of the morning. Chloe groped for the receiver and pulled it to her ear. “Yes?”
“Chloe, come back to the hospital.” Roarke’s voice sounded hoarse with emotion. “The security guard will be watching for you and let you in. Use the main entrance.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The doctor thinks Kitty might not . . . not make it through the night. I know she’d want to speak to you . . . if she gains consciousness again.”
“I’ll come right away.”
When Chloe reached the hospital, the cabbie walked her through the darkness to the dimly lit entrance. A uniformed guard unlocked the door for her and she slid inside.
“Walk quietly, miss,” the guard said.
Chloe couldn’t reply. But she made herself take soft steps on the polished linoleum, not letting her heels click. The hospital felt like a huge, dangerous beast, fast asleep, that she mustn’t wake, mustn’t anger, mustn’t let loose on Kitty.
Chloe paused outside Kitty’s door and looked in at Roarke sitting beside his sister’s bed. A thought, a sudden wave like a hurricane tide, swept through her. Though he sat within feet of her, she’d lost Roarke in the war. Tonight she might lose Kitty. But she might regain Roarke—if she dared.
No, impossible.
She stood rooted to the spot, confused yet emboldened. “I’m here.”
Roarke stood up, bumping the chair.
She walked over to him, not keeping the bed between them as she had earlier. “Roarke.” She halted in front of him.
He appeared to pull inward, away from her. Did he sense her yearning to reach him, reach for him?
“What are we going to do without her?” Chloe spoke the words her heart pounded with.
“Don’t say that,” he muttered. “I can’t lose her.”
Like you lost yourself? Lost me?
“Roarke, why do you . . . Why have you . . .” She pressed her lips together. Would it work? Here, tonight, could she get him to break down the wall he’d erected between him and everyone, especially her?
W
hy can’t we talk like we used to?” It wasn’t exactly what she’d wanted to say, caught as she was between opposing impulses. She was afraid to reveal all that her pounding heart was clamoring to voice. At the same time, if she didn’t speak now once and for all, she was terrified of losing Roarke forever.
Roarke gave an impatient toss to his head. “All that was years ago. It doesn’t matter now.”
Doesn’t matter?
“But it does. I lost you somehow.” Long-denied truth gushed from her lips. “Why won’t you let me in, or Kitty or anyone?”
He turned and gave her his profile. “This isn’t the time or place to talk of the past.”
“When will it be the right time and place?” She kept her urgent voice low, not wanting to be overheard by the nurses down the hall. Roarke stood only inches from her, as rigid as the Statue of Liberty. But this was Roarke, who’d always been so sensitive and kind to her. If she rested her cheek on his shoulder, would he fold her into his arm?
“There’s nothing to discuss.” His sharp words shoved her away. “You married Theran. You lost him and were changed. I went to war. I came back different. Kitty is the only one the war didn’t change, haven’t you realized that by now?”
“Yes, I have realized that.” Chloe drew closer to him, unable to stop herself. “That’s why I can’t bear to lose her. She’s the only one who links me to the woman I was with Theran.” Tears started in Chloe’s eyes. She willed them away. “You changed. I changed. Why does that mean we can’t be friends like we were?”
“I’m your friend, always will be,” he said stiffly.
“How can that be when you won’t talk to me?” She closed the inches between them. “Roarke, you’re the one who knew me best.”
He stood his ground, looking down at her. “You’ve changed. You said it yourself. You went to Washington with your daddy. You’re not the Chloe I helped to run away to marry Theran.”
She hated that he said these awful words aloud.
No.
“That’s not true. Down deep I’m the same.”
“How deep down?” he sneered. “I don’t see it in you at all. We can’t get it back, Chloe, or go back to where we were. We can’t become young and innocent again.”
“What has that to do with being able to talk to each other?” She touched his shoulder, and then flattered her palm against him, hungry for contact.
He shrugged off her hand. “I don’t want to talk. That’s the difference.”
His dismissal stung. “Why?” Impetuously, she moved forward against him. His distinctive scent, so well remembered, was all around her.
Fold me in your arms, Roarke. I need you.
He moved back an inch or two. Desperate, fearless, she moved toward him once more, resting her head on his chest.
Don’t pull away again, Roarke. Please.
“None of this makes sense.”
“Don’t you realize that’s the normal state of affairs?” He plunged one hand behind her and grasped the back of her head. His fingers threaded in her hair, pulling her face upward to look into his. She shivered at his touch, even though it possessed a dangerous edge. Still, she pressed herself against him closer.
His eyes met hers. “You became your father’s society hostess. I became a stock broker on Wall Street. Is that what we wanted in 1917?”
She shook her head. But fascinated by him, she ignored his words. With one finger, she traced his jaw line and then his lower lip. She felt him go rigid.
“So what do we have to talk about? Do you want to tell me about your steady boyfriend Drake Lovelady?” His harsh voice sawed into her. “I read the society columns, you know. Quite the dashing couple, you two.”
“Stop it.” Every word he spoke ripped her raw. She jerked away from him.
Don’t speak to me this way, Roarke. This isn’t you. It can’t be.
“Or are you tired of your affair with him—”
Chloe slapped Roarke’s face. Her palm hit the deep grooves in his flesh and she recoiled, horrified at herself. Her breath came in gasps as if she’d just run the length of Manhattan.
Roarke flushed but said nothing.
“What?” Kitty moaned, opening her eyes.
Chloe looked down. “Kitty, it’s me, Chloe.” She dropped to her knees and took Kitty’s hand. “Don’t leave us.” Chloe’s voice shook. “I can’t bear it.”
Kitty fought for breath. “Not leaving you. Not leaving . . .” She lapsed into unconsciousness again.
Chloe pressed her forehead to Kitty’s limp hand. “Don’t give in, Kitty.”
I’ll die somehow if I lose you, too.
A white-capped nurse entered, forcing Chloe to recall appearances. She rose unsteady, tears washing away her rouge and powder. What did it all matter?
Roarke stood motionless behind her. The fight went out of Chloe. She could do nothing but pray. She’d lost Theran, her daughter, Roarke.
Not Kitty, Lord. Don’t take Kitty.
The nurse finished checking Kitty and left.
“I’m sorry, Chloe.” Roarke’s voice was soft, hoarse. “I didn’t mean to speak . . . harshly.”
“I’m sorry, too.” She made her way to the chair on the other side of the bed and collapsed onto it. “I guess I said things I shouldn’t have.” She felt nauseated. She’d gambled one last time and gone broke.
“They call us the Lost Generation,” Roarke said with a sarcastic edge to his voice. He turned away and looked out the darkened window. He pressed his hands against the window frame like a man trapped in a cell. “We’re not the only two who lost ourselves in the war.”