The First Law of Love (35 page)

“Wait,” he said back, just as out of breath.

I twisted and intended to shove him away, but instead I grabbed his head to pull his mouth to mine. He made a harsh sound in his throat and kissed me just like I needed. I opened my lips to take his tongue into my mouth, craving the taste of him, my hands clutching him frantically. We went to our knees, Case gripping my jaws in both hands, tilting me into his heated kisses, our heads slanting one way and the other.

Fiercely I yanked him over me, tumbling onto the ground, spreading my legs around his hips as we kissed as though the world would promptly explode before morning's light and this moment was all we would ever be allowed. I slid my hands at once beneath his shirt, where he was so strong and warm, so solid under my palms. I moaned and went for his jeans.

“Case, oh God, oh God, don't stop,” I begged as he lifted his mouth just a fraction, breath pelting my cheek, to stare into my eyes with all of the wonder and insanity of what was happening here in his darkened yard. My own breath was coming in gasps, my heart beating so fast it was tripping over itself, roaring in my head. His heart matched this pace and then some, pressed tightly to my breasts.

“Tell me…you want me,” he rasped out, winding his fingers into my loose hair, clutching me almost painfully hard. But it was exactly what I wanted, down to my bones, exactly what I needed.

“I couldn't want you more,” I moaned, dizzy with it, tightening my thighs around his hips, feeling the rigid hardness beneath his jeans. He caught my wrists from where I had curled my fingers around his belt buckle and pinned them forcefully to the ground, just beside my cheeks on either side of my head. I lifted against him, feverish, and he suckled my bottom lip in his mouth, running his tongue over me, the heat of this flaming straight between my legs. I couldn't handle another moment of him not touching me.

“Good,” he whispered cruelly, rolling from me, lying flat on his own back and covering his face, knees bent at right angles. Cold and desolate without him atop me, I went right after him, stunned, again feeling as though he had struck me with his fists.

“Look at me!” I shouted at him, shoving at his hands so that he would. I was so aroused that the violent red haze had descended again, even as angry tears spurted in my eyes. “Why are you
doing this to me?
”

“Doing this to
you?
” he repeated, fiercely, catching my wrists again. “You don't have any idea.”

“That hurts,” I choked out, struggling to free myself from his grasp, tear-streaked and miserable, and in love with him. God help me, so in love with him that I couldn't even imagine another day without him in it.

“Then you finally understand,” he said, low and harsh, hauling me back over his chest. I fell over him, greedy for his every touch, my hair getting tangled between us as he rolled me to the side and claimed my mouth, sliding his right hand over my belly and over the top of my jean shorts. The sounds coming from my throat were purely mindless with need. He kissed me, stroking until I could no longer sense time and place, my hands fisted around his t-shirt; I thought he might try to escape if I loosed my hold.

“I need you, oh God, I need you,” I told him as he freed my mouth to kiss my neck, and at my words he went rigid, ceasing all motion. He lifted his head and, frantic that he would push me away, I clung even more tightly.

His eyes were flames, intent upon burning me alive, and he whispered, “You don't mean that how I want you to mean it, and I can't bear it.”

“Case!” I gasped, but was not strong enough to stop him from extracting himself from my grip. I scrambled after him, as though we were competitors in a wrestling match, catching him around the waist as he got to his knees, knocking us both off balance. We grappled, falling again to the earth, me over his chest this time. I straddled him at once, pinning him as well I could with my legs, bracing myself on his shoulders. Furious, pulsating with heated energy, I yelled as best I could manage through my heaving breath, “Would you…
listen to me?
I'm not
fucking with you!
”

He stared up at me, cast in demonically-red light, his chest rising and falling with his own harsh breath. I could feel the way his heart was throbbing; I could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat. But before I could speak he said hoarsely, “Right now I don't care how I'll feel tomorrow.” The tone in his voice killed me. “I don't care anymore. When you leave, I want to have at least one memory to get me through the rest of my life.”

I took these words like blows from someone with a hammer in hand.

Oh God
…

When you leave
…

You can
'
t stay here, Tish. You
'
re not good enough for him. You know it
'
s true
…

My thoughts were raging, swift and horrible.

If you tell him you love him it will only force you to make a choice you can
'
t make
…

I can
'
t bear it, I can
'
t bear it either
…

Tears came gushing from my eyes then and I rolled away this time, utterly defeated, hollowed out. I felt as though I should take myself somewhere and use a whip to peel the flesh from my own back. And even that would not hurt as much as what I had done to him, what I would have to do to myself to stop this from going any further. I had pushed it when he'd told me to go, to let him go…

He wrapped around me from behind, catching me to his chest and he was so strong, cradling me this time, as I pressed both fists to my mouth to keep sobs from ripping up my chest.

“Oh God, don't cry,” he said into my hair.

I hated myself more in that moment than I had ever hated anything or anyone in my life. I wrenched free of him and stumbled to my feet, blinded by tears, choking on sobs.

“Tish,” he said, and his voice was that of someone drowning, unable to surface for the next breath, just as I felt right now. “Oh God, don't go…please, don't go.”

I didn't dare look back as I jogged to my car, leaving him sitting on the ground.

And this time he didn't follow.

Later, I didn't remember driving home after leaving Case's. Sometime late the next morning Robbie was knocking, calling through the door like a worried little brother. When I didn't respond he texted me,
Can I at least have my keys?

Go away
, I managed to text back.
Go the fuck away.

I wanted to die. I couldn't even cry I was so dead inside. When Robbie refused to leave, I shoved his keys beneath the door and then fell straight back into my bed.

Is this what you want? Is this what
'
s right?

Turnbull and Hinckley is going to call with a job offer any moment.

It
'
s what you want.

You can
'
t stay here. You don
'
t belong here
…

I didn't move until sometime towards early evening, unable to look at my face in the mirror, because if I did I would have to acknowledge that I was leaving behind the man I was in love with.

Oh God, I love him
…

But I can
'
t stay here
…

I can
'
t
…

Clark called me, which I ignored. I thought about calling my sister, but I couldn't bear to talk to Camille right now. I couldn't bear to do anything but drive back to Case's house and tell him the truth. But that would only hurt both of us more than anything.

Would he come back to Chicago with me?

Could I even ask that of him?

Oh God, I want to die. I want simply to die.

Case, Case, Case
…

I dreamed of Case that night and the next, terrible dreams in which I was tied up, wrists and ankles, a prisoner, sobbing brokenly for him. Somehow I knew he was in terrible danger. Mortal danger. I worked at the rope bindings until I was slick with my own blood. And then, into this dreamscape, Derrick Yancy suddenly emerged. Although he didn't look exactly like the man I knew in this life, it was undoubtedly him. He came near where I was tied and regarded me with a grimace, a horrible smirking smile. He put his hand under my chin, just lightly, and whispered,
Tell me, Patricia, what does a man do with an unfaithful wife?

When I stubbornly didn't answer, he struck me in the face so hard that sparks exploded across my vision, blood pouring wetly over my mouth and chin.

And then I would wake to morning light with a shuddering gasp, scarcely making it to the toilet before I vomited.

***

I was silent at work
on Monday. I told Al, “I don't want to talk about it,” and wisely he didn't press. Thank God that Mary was out sick. I worked like a demon, shutting out everything but legal matters. Al let me take on a couple of minor disputes, both in the realm of family law, and I spent most of the afternoon at the courthouse, refusing to think about a thing other than the petitions in my hands. Hank Ryan was there, and greeted me warmly; it was all I could do to return his smile. When I was through with work it was still early afternoon and I considered going down to Records and looking up more information about the Yancys and the Spicers, but the thought of seeing Case's name on old documents, of perhaps running across a mention of Cole Spicer, was more painful than I could even consider.

You made your bed
, I reminded myself grimly.
Now you just have to get through these next few weeks and then go home.
I had driven to the courthouse, even though it would have been much easier to walk, but I was too terrified of running into Case. As I drove back through the late afternoon sunshine, studying the familiar streets of Jalesville, I understood that I had to leave sooner than that. I had to go back to Chicago, now. This week. Maybe even tomorrow.

You coward,
I told myself, viciously, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands.
You can
'
t back out now. Al is counting on you for at least a few more weeks.

I can
'
t bear it
, I thought, echoing Case's words; my heart was hollowed out, drained of everything.

How can this be right?

Tish, answer me. How can this be right?

Immediately after work I drove home and drew the blinds, curled onto my couch. Jerry Woodrow, the sheriff, had stopped in to the law office to tell me that there had been no leads on the break-in of my apartment. I didn't tell him that I already knew exactly who had broken into my place, and that right now I didn't care about anything but getting through the next moment. My phone, forlorn on the kitchen table, was lit up like a radio tower with messages, many of which were from Camille, but I couldn't bear to talk to her either.

It was after ten that night when someone knocked on my door. I started awake, falling off the couch, and then my heart sprang to wild, frantic life, thinking it might be Case. I wanted to see him, just to see him. Someone knocked again and then I heard Clark say, “Tish, honey, it's just me. You wouldn't answer your phone and I was getting worried.”

I went to the door and tipped my forehead against it. I had to clear my throat two times before I managed to say, “Clark, I'm so sorry.”

“Can I come in?” he asked. “Will you talk to me?”

“I can't,” I said, aching, bled out. “I just can't right now.”

“None of us want you to go,” Clark said. “Al called me today, said he's worried sick about you. Thinks you're going to leave early for Chicago. He doesn't want that either.”

“Clark,” I said, though I was unable to open the door. I couldn't bear to see how disappointed he was in me. I asked him, my throat aching, “Is he all right?”

There was a silence that burned right through the door. Clark said at last, “I'm not going to lie and tell you that he is. I can't do that.”

I sank to my knees, my head still against the door. Tears began clawing the inside of my skull, but it was nothing less than I deserved. Clark said, “This next Friday is Garth and Becky's anniversary, hon. We're having a party at The Spoke. We'd all be much obliged if you'd come.”

There was no way in hell I could show my face. But I whispered, “Thanks, Clark. Thank you for everything.”

I sensed his reluctance to go. He finally said, “I think you should stay, Tish. Please know that.”

And a minute later I heard the sound of his diesel truck grumbling softly as he took his leave.

***

I went to work every
day that week. I ate hardly a bite of food, only drank enough to keep me alive. By Friday Al and Mary were ready to conduct an intervention.

“Patty, you've done a world of good here,” Mary told me, stroking my hair as I sat at my desk, face buried in my arms. By noon I had given up all pretense of trying to work, as I had all week, and just let my head drop. “So many families have refused to sell to Overland because of your efforts. Yours and Al's. You two should be proud of yourselves.”

“Thanks, Mary,” I muttered.

Al came near and said, “Tish, if you're hurting this badly…”

I raised my head then and lied, “I'm just fine. Just fine.”

Al made me go home at three-thirty, where I crumpled on the floor near my couch this time. I was in no way trying to be dramatic; it was just where my legs happened to give out. Maybe three hours passed and I was half-asleep when the phone rang near my ear, where it had fallen. Somehow I knew I needed to take this phone call, even in my semi-conscious state. I fumbled and brought it to my field of view, heart speeding up to see a Chicago number. Peaches was curled near my belly, as usual.

I cleared my throat but still sounded like a pack-a-day smoker when I answered on the fourth ring, “Patricia Gordon.”

“Miss Gordon?” asked a cultured female voice. “Hello there, this is Ginny Tinsdale, calling from Turnbull, Hinckley and Associates. How are you this evening?”

“Wonderful,” I said, hitching myself to a sitting position. My mouth was dry as sandpaper.

“Glad to hear it,” she said cheerfully, ignoring the way my tone contradicted the word. “I apologize for contacting you so late on a Friday, but you were unavailable yesterday and then earlier today. I am calling on behalf of the partners here. They would like to invite you to return to Chicago to personally accept a position here at our firm. Pending your passage of the bar exam, of course.”

A position here at our firm
…

Oh God
…

‘Moment of clarity' were the words that flashed through my mind right then. I sat there on the floor of my apartment, shaking and with a cold chill across my gut, stunned at what I had almost let happen, what I had almost done. Here with my dream job offer literally at my fingertips. Oh God, what had I almost done? How could I have come so close to the brink this way?

Oh God
…

“Miss Gordon?” asked the voice in Chicago, when it was apparent that I wasn't immediately responding.

“Please tell Mr. Turnbull that I decline, respectfully,” I said, and for the first time in nearly a week I was able to draw a full breath, knowing that I had done what I was meant to do; I had finally made the right choice, for once in my life. I said, “Please tell him that I've accepted another offer, to work for Mr. Howe, here in Jalesville.”

There was a startled silence coming back to my ear, before she said, in a completely different tone, a tone of shock, “Will do, Miss Gordon. You…have a nice evening.”

“Thank you,” I said.

I will, oh God, I will now.

I rolled to all fours and then to my feet, almost stumbling as I ran to my bedroom, stripping free of my crumpled work clothes and then into jean shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing the first one I saw. I hit the bathroom only to brush my teeth as fast as I could, shaking out my loose hair with my fingers. My eyes were red-rimmed, with terrible smudges beneath, but I couldn't worry about that right now, not when I had to get to Case as fast as I could.

Call him!

I did, grabbing my keys along the way, slipping into my green flip-flops. I told Peaches, “Be a good girl,” as Case's phone rang and rang, my heart slicing through my ribs in the silence between each ring. He didn't answer; it went to an automated message and then I was running, out the door and to my car, fumbling the keys from my purse, dropping them, my heart alive again within me.

Seconds later dust flew in a powdery cloud behind my car as I drove over gravel roads, flew really, out to Ridge Road in the late-evening light; only the thought of the animals slowed me down in his yard. I parked, heart thrusting so hard I put a hand over it, jumping from the car. Mutt and Tiny came tumbling and I hugged them close, calling, “Case! Are you here?”

I ran to the screen door, tugging to find it locked. To the barn next, stepping out of my shoes so that I could move more quickly, my voice becoming almost frantic as I continued to call for him. Cider and Buck snorted and nickered at me, but I could not waste a moment. Back outside and under the setting sun several things dawned upon me.

Tish, his truck isn
'
t here.

Calm down. Get a grip on yourself.

It
'
s Garth and Becky
'
s party tonight, at The Spoke, remember?

You weren
'
t going to go, but that
'
s where he
'
ll be.

Right. Calm down, drive back to town.

Main Street was already beneath the Honda's tires when I realized I hadn't put on my shoes; they were still outside the barn.

Who cares?

Just get there.

The amount of cars and trucks at The Spoke only caused my blood pressure to rise, as I couldn't immediately tell if Case's truck was mixed amongst the others. I parked, the ground prickly beneath my bare feet. Certainty had overtaken me, and pure need, and I needed to tell him the truth. I needed to tell Case that I was in love with him and that I was never planning to leave his side ever again.

Oh God.

I burst through the front door of the little bar and grill. Inside it was chaotic with people drinking, dancing to the current musicians, who were playing something wild and raucous, lots of fiddle. There was a bunch of helium balloons on the bar and I saw the Rawley boys from across the room. Many, many greetings were called my way, smiles and hellos; someone asked why I wasn't wearing shoes, but I had no time for anything but finding Case. He was not in sight.

Where, where, where?

The back entrance!

I darted outside again, into the gathering dusk, raced around the far side of the building and ran smack into the sight of Case and Garth, twenty paces away. My heart seized up to observe Case sitting on a chair he'd dragged outside, curled forward, his fiddle bow held lengthwise against his face, shoulders hunched. His hat was on the ground near his boots. Garth was bent near him, guitar in hand, speaking fervently to his friend, one hand upon Case's shoulder.

Oh God
.

I had done this to him, and to myself.

“Case,” I said, my throat rough, and he jerked at the sound of my voice, as though I had run him through with something unimaginably sharp. Garth turned to regard me more slowly. My heart became even more frantic as Case watched me silently for the space of a few seconds; he had been crying, quietly and devastatingly.

I ran to him, but he had already stood up, turned from me.

“Wait,” I begged him, catching at him, but he jerked roughly from my grip. I hadn't seen him in almost a week, but I was determined that I would see him every day and night for the rest of my life, come hell or high water. Starting immediately.