Raphaela's Gift (16 page)

"What's going on, Garret? Why won't you tell me?"

His palms flat on the floor, he forced his weary body to stand. The aching aftershocks of his fight with Faith's fiancé racked his body, and all he wanted was to sleep for twelve hours at home, in his own bed. But then he glanced at the lodge bed, its promise of soft comfort luring him. With deliberate steps, he walked to it and sat down. "Nothing is going on. I had an accident, that's all. Now, if you don't mind, I'd really like to lie down for a while. Then, we can talk about leaving. All right?"

Marian went to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a washcloth filled with ice. "Here, let me put this on your head. Are you sure you're okay? You're pretty pale." She leaned forward to gently place the icepack on his face, and he could smell her perfume. Chanel Number Five. The same fragrance she'd worn when they were married. Memories of Raphaela's infancy, when their marriage had been intact crept to the surface of his mind, but he forced them away. Now was not the time for nostalgia.

"I'm fine." He reached up to steady the icepack on his head, and his hand touched hers. Their gazes met, and a strange sense of awkward discomfort wiggled up his spine.

He couldn't handle the hope in her eyes, not now. Letting his eyelids drop over his eyes and cocoon him in comforting darkness, he closed himself off from her--and from the hope and confusion on her face. Giving her any sense of optimism for reconciliation was plain cruel. "I'm tired. Just need some rest."

"That's okay. I'll take Ella to her afternoon session. You get some sleep."

Something soft brushed his cheek, the floral smell of Chanel Number Five intense. Had she kissed him?

"Come on, Ella. You want to go play, sweetie?"

The metallic sounds of the doorknob shaking and the lock disengaging filled the silence. Garret listened to the muffled sound of the door dragging over the carpet, silently praying he'd be able to sleep. And then the door shut, the lock striking home with a soft click.

Alone at last, except for the ghosts of a failed marriage and thoughts of a hellion named Faith.

An unknown time later, he dragged his heavy eyelids from over his eyes and looked around the dim room. The curtain was drawn, but judging by the ebony sliver between the panels, he guessed it was late. Pushing up on stiff arms that ached as though he'd spent the afternoon lifting weights, he sat up. His head throbbed as he looked about the room and then stood.

Anxious to survey the damages, he staggered to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The blazing florescent light blinded him for a minute, and he squinted until his eyes adjusted to its blue-hued illumination. Once his eyes adapted to the brightness, the sight in the mirror relieved him. His only visible injuries were on the top of his head, which would be easily hidden by his hair.

"That monster belongs behind bars." he said aloud into the silence, then slammed his palms on the bathroom vanity counter. "Damn him!"

Then Faith's ingratitude rose from his memory to sting him. She was actually thinking of sweet-talking that psychopath instead of throwing his ass in jail? What the hell kind of logic was that?

If he'd had any thought of leaving Mountain Rise, now it was foremost in his mind. Going back to his stressful, but manageable, life at home was appealing. No, it was more than tempting. It was vital.

No more indecision.

After splashing icy water on his face to revive himself, he patted it dry with a towel and then pulled the suitcases out from under the bed. He glanced at the clock. Eight-fifteen. If he packed in a hurry, he could fetch Raphaela from Marian's room and be ready to leave by nine. And if he drove straight through without stopping, he could be home by two.

He opened the suitcases and loaded them with the clothes from the dressers. Next, he emptied the clothes rack next to the bathroom, and finally, he tossed in his extra shoes and shaving kit and zipped the suitcases closed.

He glanced at the clock again, eight-thirty. Leaving the suitcases in his room, he walked down the hall to Marian's room. Before he reached it, however, he heard Raphaela's cries. He ran the rest of the way and pounded on the door.

It opened, with Marian's help, to reveal her wide-eyed desperation and a screaming Raphaela, lying on the floor and tossing her arms and legs about.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," Marian answered, her hands in the air in bewilderment. "She was fine and then all of a sudden she started screaming."

He stooped down next to Raphaela. "Why didn't you come and get me?"

"You were so…I didn't want to disturb you. Oh, God, Garret. I think she's become worse."

He looked up at Marian, and couldn't miss the fear touching her features. "I suspected it was a possibility."

"But I thought she was getting better. What have I done?" Marian's lips quivered, and her hands trembled as they clenched her upper arms. Her arms were crossed over her heaving chest.

Don't cry. Not now. Please!
He dropped his gaze back to Raphaela and sang, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray…" But Raphaela's screams drowned out the melody.

"It's not working, what do we do now?" Marian asked.

"I'm all packed up. I think I should take her home. But I'd like to let her settle down before we leave. How long has she been like this?"

Marian glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "An hour, maybe longer."

He shook his head. "She's never gone on that long before. Is she in pain? Did she hurt herself?"

"I don't know." Marian was obviously on the verge of hysterics too.

"Okay, let's keep our heads. Did you try turning on the television? Sometimes that works."

Marian ran to the TV and punched the power button. She turned and looked expectantly at Raphaela. When their daughter's screams didn't subside, she shook her head. "It's not working."

"Okay, maybe I should just get her to the truck. Can you go back to my room and get the suitcases? I'm sorry, they're heavy, but I don't want to leave her in the truck, screaming like she is."

He swept Raphaela into his arms.

She stilled, her screams cut off as abruptly as if he'd flipped a switch. She looked at him through teary eyes and smiled.

He sank back onto his rear end and stared into his baby's red, tear-smudged face in awe. She lay cradled across his lap. "You wanted me?"

In response, she sat up and threw her arms around his neck, squeezing him until tears welled in his eyes, not so much from the intensity of her pressure around his neck. No, his tears, which ran unchecked down his face, were borne of the realization that she was hugging him.

He wrapped his arms around her soft little body and held her close, relishing the velvety smoothness of her cheek against his own and the way her body relaxed in his embrace. "Oh, my baby. I love you."

He sat, oblivious to everything around him, caring about nothing but the child in his arms, the smell of her hair, the subtle movement of her chest and abdomen as her breathing slowed. The slow relaxing of arms and legs that had been tense for hours.

When her weight increased, and her head flopped slightly on his shoulder. He knew instinctively she'd fallen asleep.

"What's going on?" Marian asked from the door.

He didn't move, didn't speak.

She walked nearer, bending over and facing him, peering at Raphaela's turned face. "Oh, wow! She's asleep? Now what?" Her eyes met his.

"I don't know. I was all ready to take her home, but now I don't know what to do. Damn it, being a parent is hard. There aren't any simple answers," he whispered.

"Do I ever know that."

He smiled, in spite of his confusion and frustration. "I was so sure she was getting worse... I didn't want to spend another day here."

"Was that truly because of Ella?" she asked with a knowing nod.

"What do you mean?"

Marian drew in a visible breath. "Maybe I was pushing too hard, having Faith talk to you about us--" She stopped, cutting her sentence off, and bit her lip.

"No, that has nothing to do with me wanting to leave." Or did it? He couldn't deny he had grown uneasy around Marian. The truth was, there were so many factors he couldn't identify which one was the most compelling.

Marian's gaze did not waver from his face. "Are you certain?"

He nodded.

"Can we talk about it then? About us?"

"Now?"

"If not now, when?" Her frustration visibly building, she crossed her arms over her chest again. "You always skirt the issues. When are you going to get past that annoying habit? You're like a politician, always saying what you don't mean, and not saying what you do."

Her analogy was almost funny, but he resisted the temptation to laugh. "I think we've had enough fireworks for tonight, don't you?"

She hesitated. "Tomorrow, then?"

"How about we focus on Ella while we're here, and discuss the other issues after we go home."

"What are you going to do tonight?"

He dropped his gaze to his sleeping daughter's face. She was so beautiful when she slept. So innocent and peaceful. "I don't know. I guess we could stay…"

Marian stooped to his level again, her eyes boring into his. "Thank you."

The air between them hung with unspoken wishes and unchallenged frustrations. He nodded and stood. Marian opened the door. In troubled silence, he carried his baby girl down the hall to their room.

Every night that week, he'd prayed for a clear answer to his troubles, the gray to become black or white. Yet, the problems still remained as gray as ever, and the answers beyond his reach. Knowing tomorrow would be no different, he laid Raphaela on the bed, tucking a blanket up around her shoulders, and readied himself for bed. Sleep would probably elude him, as it did most nights, but he would try.

* * *

Faith sat in her office, content in its silence and peace after the chaos several days earlier. Memories of that strike, the first blow Steven had ever laid upon her, made her wince. Her hand, of its own accord, rose to softly finger the still-swollen flesh at the back of her head. What was she going to do now? It was as though he was a different man.

Deep within, she knew that once a man crossed that line, actually struck a woman, he was likely to repeat it. Again, and again. There was no going back now. She must return his ring and tell him to leave. Today. Her hope was, of course, he would agree and leave peacefully. Maybe yesterday had been an accident? Should she get the authorities involved, or her boss?

She recalled the many arguments she'd had with him over the years. Not once had he ever been violent. No, if she handled the situation on her own, he wouldn't get enraged again.

But no Garret Damiani.

Misery flamed anew. She'd secretly blamed him for Steven's violence, and that had not been fair. No, Steven's anger was not Garret's fault. But was it her fault for taking the easy way out, avoiding the inevitable?

A soft knock on the door brought dread, cold and prickly, to the back of her neck. No window in the door. She couldn't check to see who was knocking. Knowing Steven could be awaiting her on the other side, she reached for the knob. Before she turned it, she asked, "Who's there?"

"Faith, it's me."

Garret? She opened the door and stepped to the side to let him into the cramped room.

He remained outside. "Can we talk?"

Her eyes drunk in the sight of him, while her mind screamed its reservations. He was a welcome sight. "I'm so sorry about the other day." She wanted to reach out and touch him, but resisted.

He shook his head. "Not here. Can we talk somewhere else? Somewhere away from here?"

Understanding his unspoken meaning--his wish to avoid another confrontation with Steven--she hesitated. "I have some errands to run in town this morning."

"Perfect. Your car or mine?"

One moment's thought was all she needed. "We can't take mine. It's parked in the lot next to Steven's room. I'm sure he'll see us. Unless you want me to drive around and pick you up somewhere."

"You didn't call the police?"

She shook her head. Should she have? She would have encouraged a client in her position to do so. Ironic, the answers looked so obvious from the outside.

Grateful Garret didn't say any more, she descended the stairs from her office, out into the heavy warmth of the morning. Today was going to be another steamy day.

Silent, she followed him into the lush green woods toward the front parking lot. The cicadas buzzed and birds twittered their morning songs as they walked, and yet those normally cheerful sounds brought her no comfort. The only sound she made was the crunch of her feet upon the bark-strewn trail until they reached the west end of the lodge.

As she rounded the corner, she spied his Explorer in the lot. Drawing a deep draught of air, she reveled in how Garret's peculiar scent hung in the truck's stuffy interior. He slid into the driver's seat, cranked the motor to life, and looked at her. "Where to?"

"Take the drive out to the road, then turn left."