Wait for Me (17 page)

“Because of me?”

Johanna sighed and looked thoroughly shamefaced. She couldn’t look Holly in the eye as she gave a slight nod of her head.

“I’m afraid so,” she said, her voice shaky with regret. “I’m sorry, Holly. But that’s why I think you should tell Oliver. She won’t listen to me. I’ve tried over and over to explain to her that cutting off the funds to the clinic because of you would be hurting so many more people, so many people who need so much... and how good you are for Oliver. But she’s not listening. Her mind is set, old-fashioned and misguided as it is. Tell Oliver. She’s afraid of him, so she’ll do whatever he says. She keeps pretending she hasn’t made the connection between you and the clinic yet, but that’s only to keep Oliver from getting suspicious and stepping into her territory. I really think he should know.”

“Why don’t you tell him?” she asked. It was a logical question, if Johanna was as concerned as she appeared to be.

But she became even more embarrassed and degraded as she admitted, “I would but... I know how cowardly this is going to sound but... we live in a trickle-down budget here. My mother gets her money from Oliver, and I get mine from her...” Her words faded on a pathetic note. “Please don’t think too harshly of me. I... I’m not like you, Holly. You’re brave and strong and capable. And I’m... I’ve been trained to be a rich man’s wife, a party hostess, a fund-raiser, a pretty ornament. I don’t know anything else. I can’t tell him and risk losing everything I know. I’m sorry.”

It was a disgusting confession, but heartfelt, and Holly couldn’t bring herself to condemn her. Johanna wasn’t like her mother. She’d been nothing but kind to Holly since their first meeting. She was as much a victim of circumstance as the people who came to the clinic—though the comparison was rather broad.

“I appreciate you telling me this,” she said. The small smile of acceptance and pardon on her lips couldn’t quite make it to her eyes. “At least I’ll be prepared now. But I’ve already decided not to tell Oliver. I thought about it when we first got the notice, when I discovered he didn’t have a working, hands-on knowledge of that end of his business. But I don’t need Oliver to fight my battles for me, and I can’t ask him for money. This is business, and it shouldn’t have anything to do with what he and I have together.”

“But doesn’t my mother’s attitude change all that? I mean, if she’s going to play dirty, shouldn’t you?”

“No,” she said, her head lifting higher in the air. “There’s a board of trustees. We have a legitimate need for the money. There are ways of getting around this sort of thing.”

“Oh, Holly, I hope you’re right about this. My mother has a lot of influence over the foundation. It’s her only source of power, and she guards it carefully.”

She was genuinely concerned, and Holly found it endearing. She was beginning to believe she’d found a true friend in Johanna, and who knew? With a little nudge here and a little prodding there and a few more serious talks and some exposure... maybe Johanna would eventually make a good recruit.

“Yes, but now I have a friend on the inside, right?” she said, smiling as she put an arm around Johanna’s shoulder. “Someone to keep me informed. Someone to whisper sweet nothings in her mother’s ear.”

Johanna grinned, slyly.

“My mama warned me about girls like you, Holly Loftin. And I’m beginning to think she’s not all wrong about some things.” They laughed. “But I’ll do what I can. I warn you, it may not be much. I’m not a big part of the scheme of things around here, but I will try.”

“Well, you’re a big part of my scheme. And I need all the help I can get.”

Oliver parked behind the Paulson Clinic in the alley between Deaver Street and the old library that now housed an army surplus outlet. He waited almost twenty minutes before he released a long-suffering but good-natured sigh, removed his pure-silk tie and suit jacket, then entered the two-story building through the rear entrance.

Warm, moist air, thick with the mixed aroma of the four major food groups and coated with the overwhelming scent of roast turkey, met him before he even had the door open. So did the clamor of pots and pans and the rumbling of a couple hundred voices from within.

At five o’clock that morning, Holly had slipped from the cozy warm nest they’d made on her couch to help prepare Christmas dinner for the line of people that now extended along the entire front of the building and down half the next block.

Once again she’d underestimated her generosity in thinking she’d be finished and ready to go out for their own Christmas celebration by seven-thirty that evening. And he’d accounted for that, arriving at eight. But it was now nearly eight-thirty... and he knew Holly.

With the uncanny ability that came with love, he spotted her almost immediately in the crowd. Standing at the serving line, talking and smiling and laughing as she worked. He took a minute to watch her, to realize that service was not only her job, but her joy. He felt his heart swell with something that was more than love; something that hurt, it felt so good; something he’d never known before.

Holly was the woman he’d waited for all his life. Strong, independent, and giving, from the top of her head to her sexy little toes. If she wondered how Carolann came to be Carolann, he couldn’t help wondering how Holly came to be. Where did her bottomless well of love come from? Her wisdom? Her caring? Her humility and pride?

A person was either born with those things or not. Granted, the Spoletos had guided her well, but Holly was born with the capacity. And why? Why Holly and not him? Or Elizabeth? Or Barbara? Or Johanna? Why was Holly’s capacity to love and give so great?

He smiled. It was a question it might take a lifetime to figure out, if then, and he was looking forward to investigating all the possibilities. She was a puzzle. A frustrating, irritating, intriguing puzzle. She was as predictable and unpredictable as... as life. His life. She was his life.

He snuck past a huge caldron of mashed potatoes and stepped around vats of peas and green salad and red Jell-O. He ducked around women with big bowls of rolls and men with carving knives, and finally settled his hands on her hips from behind.

She didn’t even flinch. If someone in that neighborhood had grabbed him from behind, he’d have... well, he wasn’t Holly, was he? She merely turned her head, grinned at him, served another helping of stuffing, and faced him.

“Hi,” she said, kissing him the way she did every time they met. It was always a pleasure, but it was always amazing to him the way her quick little kiss was a sign of her happiness to see him, her acceptance of him, her ownership of him. “You’re late.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be finished by seven-thirty.”

She shook a finger at him, laughing. “Don’t try to outthink me, Oliver. I was done at seven-thirty because I wanted to spend the evening with you. I know how much our time together means to you, and I was looking forward to it. But you weren’t here at seven-thirty, so I got back in line. And now...” She looked over her shoulder at the stream of people. When she looked back at Oliver, he was wearing a torpid expression and watching her unblinkingly. “What?”

“Do I look stupid?”

“Right now? Or in general?”

He laughed at her then. It was either that or wring her neck... or make love to her under the buffet tables.

“Oh, stop giving me that big innocent look and move over,” he said, elbowing his way to a tub of gravy. “I’ve got your number, babe, and you’re not fooling me for a second. This was your plan all along. You’re thinking that just because I know that when this is all over, you’re going to be hyped to the gills with excess energy and wanting to make love all night, that I’ll stand here and pour gravy on everything that passes by.” He picked up the ladle and dribbled the brown liquid over an outstretched tray. He smiled at the woman holding the tray and told her she was welcome to it, then turned back to Holly. “See. You’re not so smart.”

“Neither are you,” she said, grinning as she took up her spot over the sage dressing. “I was ready to go home and have sex on the floor an hour ago.” Simultaneously they noticed the man across the table avidly listening to their conversation. “The things we have to do to get volunteers around here,” she said to him, then laughed as she looked up at Oliver’s expression.

“Geez, Holly,” he muttered under his breath. “That guy’s going to be back here first thing in the morning, offering you every service you can think of.”

“Yeah, well, the things we have to do to get volunteers around here...”

Her dismissive giggling did nothing to ease the disapproving frown on his face. She had to lean over and murmur, “I love you, Oliver,” in his ear before people started asking for gravy again.

The days were lazy and pensive after Christmas as people wound down from one holiday and geared up for the next.

“How did you manage that?” Oliver asked, following her into her apartment. “Tonight
and
tomorrow off, as if you had a regular job? What’ll we do?” He paused and looked anxious. “This is our test, you know. This’ll make us or break us, spending more than four hours together at one time. Gawd!” he exclaimed putting his hands to his head. “What’ll we talk about? What’ll we do?”

“What’s your point here, Oliver?” she asked, fighting the smile that wanted to take over her droll expression.

He grinned. It had become his custom to take her into his arms whenever the opportunity presented itself. He did so now, slowly and with calculation.

“My point,” he said, bending his head to nuzzle her neck, “is that I’m overwhelmed with all the time we’ll have to do this to each other.” His body quickened as he reached up under her sweater to feel her soft, warm skin against his palms and he heard the familiar hum of satisfaction in her throat. “If we start now, we might be finished in time for you to go to work on Sunday.” He kissed her until her knees buckled, and he smiled. “...or not. We’ll see.”

She stopped the descent of his face toward hers with one finger to his lips.

“I worked Christmas so that families can be together, but mostly because New Year’s Eve is my night to celebrate.”

“We’ll celebrate like crazy, right here on your lumpy couch.”

“Nope. I want horns and confetti and champagne.”

“I’ll call Clavin and have him bring some over.”

“I want people. Happy people.”

“We’ll roll over at midnight and watch Dick Clark in Times Square. He’s a really happy guy.”

“Oliver,” she said, her tone cajoling, her smile the slyest thing he’d ever seen. “I have a new dress. I borrowed it just for tonight, just for you, to wear with the beautiful pearls you gave me for Christmas. Pretty dresses are a shame to waste, don’t you think?”

He had reservations at The Mark for eight-thirty and a night of festivities planned, but it was fun to watch her in operation. Of course, he’d have canceled all of it for a chance to spend the entire time sequestered in her apartment making mad, passionate love, but he was just as willing to take her out and show her off to the town.

“A definite waste. Is it red? I like you in red. And black,” he added, remembering her Freudian slip.

“You’ll like me in white too,” she said, pressing her body to his in all the right places. “And all night long you can think about taking it off.”

He set her away from him.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice strained, his body coiled and tense like a spring about to be sprung. “You better hurry.”

She chuckled, knowing exactly how he felt and loving the notion that she could make him feel that way any time she wanted to. It was very heady stuff, love. It made her feel as if she might live forever; as if she had power over the universe and that every wish she made would come true.

“I still haven’t figured out where your friends got the idea that you’re such a tough guy, Oliver,” she said, moving off toward the bathroom. “I think you’re...”

“A pushover?” he said, his body aching.

“I was thinking... sweet,” she called out.

“Don’t push it, Holly.” He threw his coat over hers on the back of a chair and started looking around for something to do while he waited for her to shower and change.

“Putting those little battery-operated fans on Mrs. Quinn’s wheelchair, so she could feel wind in her hair, was pretty sweet, Oliver.”

He cringed. It had been a simple, mindless, impulsive act on his part, and he was beginning to think he’d never hear the end of it.

“They were lying around the boardroom, from when I used to smoke,” he said with a shrug, uncomfortable with gratitude and praise. “The board would sit in there with those little fans and blow the smoke back in my face.”

“So you quit.”

“I quit for me. I still smoke at least two cigarettes during every board meeting as a matter of principle.” Holly laughed and said something, but he didn’t hear. He was distracted by her answering machine. “Do you know you have thirteen messages on this thing? Don’t you ever listen to your messages?”

“Thirteen?” she asked, coming to the bathroom door in her bra and panties. “I wonder who... Did you call earlier?”

“Yesterday. I forgot it was Thursday.”

“Then I must have forgotten to erase it,” she said, frowning. “I wonder who the twelfth one is?” She went back into the bathroom.

“Well, aren’t you going to listen and find out?” he asked, his finger itching to press the button.

“I’ll listen to them later.”

“What if they’re important?” He couldn’t help himself, he pressed the blinking red button—it was reflex.

Holly came back to the door when she heard the machine beeping. Smiling, she leaned against the doorjamb to listen, her eyes wise and knowing as she watched Oliver’s face.

“Holly, it’s John. I’m just calling to wish you a happy birthday. The kids and Annie send their love, and you know you’ve got mine. Call when you get a minute and... have a blast, babe.”

“Holly? It’s Mama. I love you. You hava nice birthday and you call me in the morning, yes?”

“Little girl, it’s Tony. Are you out with your friend Oliver again? When are you going to bring him back to meet us properly? I promise to be good and not ask too many questions. I’ll even stuff a loaf of bread in Roberto’s mouth. Did I wish you Happy Birthday yet? I think I forgot, but you have a good time tonight and you bring him home, you hear?”