Leigh (23 page)

Her mood had lifted as she’d thrown herself into the campaign. After all, there were important things to fight for. LBJ’s
War on Poverty had not been won. Viet Nam dragged on, killing men day by day, and radical groups were still planting bombs
and robbing banks. The debates, the cam
paigning, the being a part of something that mattered had lifted Leigh out of her grief for brief periods.

But tonight had lived up to the depressing election predictions. The hope for a happy outcome for the Democratic candidate
had been in doubt from the start of the evening and had worsened minute by minute. All around her, McGovern supporters had
been—for many exhausting hours—putting up a good front for the local TV station cameras. In fact, as state after state swung
to Nixon, the gaiety took on a frantic quality of desperation.

It made her nervous. It brought back too many memories of the days just after her stepfather and Dane had died, when life
had become darker and more impossible each day. Her nerves tight, Leigh found herself drifting toward the door. Then a familiar
arm around her shoulders stopped her.

“Let’s abandon this sinking ship. I need a drink,” Trent murmured into her ear. “I hate wakes, especially when the corpse
is still breathing.”

Leigh glanced up. Trent’s look of grim disappointment snared her sympathy. He’d tried so hard to make this election a success.
And he probably hadn’t realized he was helping her—day by day—to recover from losing Dane. Now he looked like he needed a
friend, and she owed him.

She took the hand he offered. “Yes,” she said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and repelled by the disaster all around, “get
me out of here.”

With her hand in his, he led her out of the banquet room and into the nearby hotel lounge. She slid into the comfortable leather
of the corner booth. Masked by the low light, she relaxed, breathing easier. Beside her, Trent motioned toward the cocktail
waitress. “Are you going to have your usual Coke with a twist of lime?” he asked Leigh.

The way he said it was somehow a dare. It was almost as
if he’d said, “Have you grown up yet, or are you still a little girl?” And she didn’t feel like a little girl tonight. She
felt ancient. She gave him a wry look. Maybe he was right. The slaughter of McGovern called for something stronger than soda.
And she didn’t want to look so young to him. She hesitated.

“Let’s make it rum and Coke just for tonight,” he said smoothly, taking the decision from her. He turned to the waitress,
ordering for them.

Her pulse sped up, but she didn’t stop him. After Mary Beth got lost in drugs, Leigh had shied away from every intoxicant.
But tonight was different. Tonight, everything that Leigh had fought for had gone down to bloody defeat. Would life ever make
sense again?

The waitress left for the bar, and Trent faced her. “You and I need a little medication tonight. How could McGovern…” He shook
his head and fell silent.

Trent looked so defeated, and she knew how he was feeling.
I backed the losing side again.
Just like she had when she’d quit college and went looking for Mary Beth.
And what is the use of all this campaigning, caring anyway?
Dane had called her Joan of Arc. Well, where did a discouraged crusader—make that two discouraged crusaders—go to resign?

This election had kept her going for months. Now it was over. McGovern had lost. No, not just merely lost, but gone down in
flames to Nixon, who’d won one of the largest landslide victories in history. What would keep her going now?

The cocktail waitress returned with their drinks, and Leigh sipped her rum-laced Coke and tortured herself by picturing Dane—alive
and strong—walking through the door of the lounge. Why had he died so young, so senselessly? She closed her eyes, sipping
the cold, sweet Coke, willing away her sorrow, willing away the desolation that
awaited her when she woke tomorrow morning with nothing to look forward to.

“We backed the losing side,” Trent said, sounding like a different man. He sounded crushed, completely beaten as if the defeat
were his fault.

Sympathetically, Leigh touched his shoulder. “You were a great campaigner.”

He shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “I knew this would be a hard election to win. But…”

That even upbeat Trent was in danger of being depressed worried Leigh. Trent had kept her busy, kept her involved. She’d never
seen Trent discouraged. “We did the best we could.” She squeezed his arm and tried to smile. “There always has to be a winner
and a loser.”

Trent snorted and drained his martini. He waved to the waitress, and she appeared with refills for both of them. Leigh then
realized that she’d already drained her first glass. She’d forgotten it contained rum, not just Coke. Trent put the fresh
cold glass in her hand. Again, she didn’t want to make a scene.
I’ll just have to drink this one slow and make it the last.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to our country. Nixon has his strengths, but I’ve never trusted the man. The voters completely
ignored the issue of the break-in at the Watergate Hotel. But I think Nixon was behind it, and has been busy breaking laws
to cover it up.” Trent looked downward, speaking in a disgusted tone she’d never heard him use before. “Should a man capable
of such low, underhanded behavior be elected president of a world superpower?”

Leigh moved a little closer to him on the seat. Trent had always been so strong. Now to hear his disillusionment and despair
troubled her. She sipped her drink and tried to think of something comforting to say. He’d been so good to her.

Before she could say anything, a wave of people sporting
McGovern buttons flowed into the lounge, filling every stool at the bar and every booth. Three other campaigners Leigh recognized
by sight crowded up to their booth. “Do you have room for three more losers?” one of them asked with an attempt at dark humor.

“Take the booth.” Trent rose and drew Leigh with him, abandoning it. He led her out of the lounge. She wondered where Trent
was taking her, but before she could form words, he gave her the answer.

“Let’s go where we can talk privately.” He drew her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

She felt as if she were floating just above the carpet. She realized then that she had downed her second drink as fast as
the first. Unaccustomed to alcohol, she was a little lightheaded and more than a little shocked at herself. But she didn’t
stop herself as Trent led her into the elevator, where she dreamily watched the buttons for the floors light up one by one.
Then she was in the hall, waiting for Trent to unlock the door to his hotel suite. “I should be going,” she murmured. She
felt funny about going to his room. Her mother would have a fit if she knew.
Well, Mom, this is 1972, not 1942.

“Don’t go yet.” Trent squeezed her hand. Just stay a bit longer with me. You’re the only one I want to be with right now.”

As he said the words, Leigh realized that she felt the same way. Somehow even tonight, in this dark mood, he gave her hope.
“All right.” Inside the room, she sank down onto an amber sofa, feeling a bit unsteady on her feet.

Within minutes, Trent sat down beside her, handing her another Coke that he’d poured at the small wet bar.

“No, no,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to drink it. But rum and Coke isn’t that strong. It’s not like drinking martinis, you know.”

Leigh didn’t want to make a big deal about it, so she just held the drink. Again, this wasn’t the dark ages of the forties,
but she still felt odd about being alone with a man in his hotel suite. “I should be going,” she said again.

Trent sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “You loved him very much, didn’t you?”

The question came out of nowhere, freezing her in place. She’d never really discussed Dane with Trent. She drank some of her
Coke, trying to act nonchalant. And then she realized she could feel the rum loosening the rough cords of anguish that had
bound her for months. Everything was relaxing in and around her. Less pain—it felt good. Was that so bad?

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Trent said as if he expected her to rebuff him.

She ached with loneliness and gratitude for his tact.

Trent folded her hand into his. “He was a fortunate man. You are a woman of quality, a woman worthy of notice. I hope he realized
that.”

Leigh looked away, feeling loneliness and despair creeping close again. She took another sip of her drink and then hazarded
a look at him.

Trent drew her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips again. “You’ve suffered.”

Leigh felt hot, embarrassing tears dropping down her cheeks. “I’m sorry to break down like this.”

He pressed the back of her hand against his cheek. “I just wish I could do something to make you feel better.”

His sympathy made the tears come faster. “I… feel like I’ll never… love again.”

He drew her into a comforting embrace. “That’s not true.”

Her mind was moving much slower than usual, but his
words finally spread over and through her. She tingled with their effect. “Have you ever been in love like that?”

Trent met her gaze. “No.” Then he gave her a sad look. “I’d like to be. To be honest, I don’t know if I have what it takes.”

She felt the familiar pain of loss, but something new had been added. She wished she could help Trent know what it was like
to be loved.

“Love has never been part of my life, Leigh. Until I met you, I didn’t care. But you’re so special, so wonderful. You’ve tempted
me to hope.” He stopped, then went on in a different voice, “I wish I could soothe away your sorrow at least a little.”

As he said these words, Leigh found herself floating in a lovely cocoon. The anguish that had racked her for months had released
its hold on her, and Trent’s touch warmed her, excited her. She suddenly realized that the man beside her wanted to help her,
wanted to know her… The longing to let go, to let Trent comfort her, to move
toward
someone instead of just drifting in painful limbo swept over her. “And I wish you could know what it is to love and be loved.”

“So do I.” He folded her into his arms and kissed her.

Somewhere in the back of Leigh’s mind, a tardy warning rang and rang. But she was deliciously detached from it. She closed
her eyes and hummed softly, blocking it out. Trent was holding her, kissing her. As his lips dipped lower down her throat,
she sighed and leaned back, encouraging him. One last breath of caution whispered through her. Trent’s kisses became more
insistent. How could she just get up and go? How could she do that to him? He needed her. She needed him. She knew she couldn’t
face tomorrow alone. And for the first time in months, she felt good, alive. She wasn’t alone in the darkness anymore.

* * *

The next morning, a phone rang, and Leigh opened her eyes. Her mouth was dry, and a slight ache pounded over one temple. An
unusual languor made it hard for her to move. But she rolled over. And then she realized where she was.

She’d spent the night in Trent’s suite.

With Trent.

Flashes of the night played in her mind. Then she felt as if Grandma Chloe were standing right beside her, looking hurt and
very disappointed. Leigh buried her face in her hands.
How did I let this happen? Why? I don’t approve of this when others do it.
Then she recalled the three rum and Cokes she’d drank.
Why did I do that? I don’t drink.

But she’d let herself get into a questionable situation and then she’d let down her guard—and the only explanation she could
come up with was that she’d been weak and weighed down with her grief. Was that an adequate excuse? In her mind, she heard
Sister Mary Margaret at St. Agnes saying, “There’s always a reason for why people do the sinful things they do. But that doesn’t
mean that there is ever an excuse.”

Leigh massaged her temples. She didn’t really want to remember Sister Mary Margaret right now. It was bad enough, hoping that
her grandmother would never find out about last night. She didn’t even try to deceive her conscience with the popular sop
that these were the seventies, after all, and things were different between the sexes now. She would never again let herself
fall into the sin she had last night. She wouldn’t rationalize her way out of this. And she’d have to make that clear to Trent.
Or maybe he was feeling the same guilt as she this morning.

A phone conversation in the other room came to her in bits and pieces. Trent raised his voice as if winding up a con
versation, “Yes, I won’t forget. The game’s at 6:30. I’ll be there.” She heard the phone receiver being put down.

Fearing that Trent would come back in the room, she sat up and pulled the sheet to her chin.

He appeared in the doorway, still wearing only pajama bottoms. She realized she was wearing his pajama top under the sheet
and blushed furiously. In the cold light of morning, her situation was too humiliating.

Trent chuckled. “I was wondering if I should wake you up. I called room service a while ago. I hope I ordered what you like
for breakfast.”

Fierce embarrassment made it impossible for her to reply.

Trent came and sat down beside her on the bed. “You look beautiful when you blush like that.” He ran a finger down her cheek.

Her face flushed hotter, and she moved a bit away from him. “Trent, please, I—”

He interrupted her with a kiss. Then he murmured, “You’re so beautiful. I can’t wait to show you off.”

His words did not reassure her. She pulled away and grabbed at something to stop him from going any further. “Who were you
talking to?”

Trent shrugged. “Family.” He ran a finger around one ear and down her neck to the top of the sheet she held against herself.
His touch still had the power to move her, but she refused to give in to it. When she held tight, he chuckled again. “Why
don’t you shower before breakfast? I can wait and shower afterward.” He stood up.

She felt distinct relief that he was leaving her to get herself together. And yes, she wanted and needed fresh clothing to
face breakfast with him and the conversation they had to have. She must let him know that she wouldn’t fall from grace again.
Once was already more than she could handle. The
only thing that made this bearable was that she was sure Trent was a good person who had fallen in love with her and that
he’d understand why it had to be that way. They’d just have to go back and begin dating, getting to know one another a bit
better. She had no doubt that she felt love for this man. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have allowed him to make love to her.