CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Would you like some more broccoli, Marie?"
Marie shook her head. "No, thank you."
"She's too excited about seeing me again." Tom grinned at his favorite cousin.
She smiled at him. "So you're saying you've made me lose my appetite?"
"I wouldn't phrase it like that."
She loved seeing Tom again. He'd obviously missed her as much as John had, and as he'd escorted her in to dinner, he'd whispered that he'd pick her up at 8:00 Saturday to take her to a speakeasy.
"Maybe you could join us at the Cape one weekend, Tom," Mrs. Tranton suggested.
"Oh? Are you leaving soon?"
"In two weeks. Marie and I are going to spend three weeks there, and Jefferson and John will drive out on the weekends. You could come with them."
Marie had been looking forward to going to the Cape, but listening to her mother talk about it, she wasn't so sure she was up to going. She needed the familiarity of home.
She went up to her room soon after Tom left. She hadn't bought a stuffed animal for Rick's t-shirt, so she spread the shirt over a pillow. After she'd changed into a nightgown, she clutched his handkerchief in her fist and sat down in the rocking chair by her bed. She wished she'd gone to the library today--she'd like to have something to occupy her mind. She--
There was a tap at her door. "Marie?"
"Come in."
Her mother opened the door. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Yes. Just tired."
Mrs. Tranton sat down on the bed. "You miss him, don't you?"
"More than I could have imagined." She closed her eyes, trying to hold back her tears. "So much that it hurts."
"What does he look like?"
Marie smiled, dabbing at her eyes with Rick's handkerchief. "He's gorgeous. He's very tall, and he has a broad chest and shoulders. His hair is light brown, and his eyes are blue. He's so gentle and sweet. He never kissed me unless I wanted him to, and whenever we did kiss--" She shivered, glancing at her mother and then away. "Mother, when Father kisses you, do you feel it all over?"
Mrs. Tranton smiled. "Sometimes." She smoothed the bedspread. "Did Davis make you feel that way?"
"Never. Oh, I enjoyed his kisses, yes. But Rick . . . I completely lost myself in his kisses." She caught her mother's look and smiled. "Yes, I really am still a virgin. But I'll admit--to you and to no one else, Mother--that that's just because Rick is a gentleman. And because he always put what was best for me before what he wanted. We would kiss and kiss and kiss, and then he'd stop and tell me we had to stop, or we'd end up making love. And I was never the one to stop, Mother. The more passionate the kisses became, the more I wanted. I-I really didn't understand until my last evening with him that we couldn't just kiss forever, that eventually kisses wouldn't be enough. If he hadn't stopped, we would have gone on and on and on until--" She caught her breath, biting her lip and fixing her eyes on the handkerchief she was clenching.
Mrs. Tranton leaned forward, putting a hand on her daughter's knee. "I understand."
Marie glanced up. "I love him, Mother."
"Are you sure you’ll never see him again?"
Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. "Positive. I had to make a choice: stay with Rick and never come home again or come home and give him up forever."
"Oh, darling, I'm sorry." She took Marie's hand and drew her from the chair to her side on the bed. "I love you so much, and I would have been devastated if you'd never come home, but I'm sorry it cost you so much. I'm sorry it's causing you so much pain."
They sat with their arms around each other for a long time. Mrs. Tranton at last gave her daughter a final squeeze. "Would you like to go downstairs for some tea or lemonade?"
"No, thank you. I think I'll just go to bed."
Mrs. Tranton rose. "Would you like me to put your handkerchief in the laundry?"
"No!" Marie recoiled. "This is Rick's. Please don't ever let Hattie wash it or the shirt." She nodded toward the t-shirt on the pillow.
Mrs. Tranton gazed down at her for a moment. "I'm sorry, darling." She kissed Marie's forehead and left.
Marie curled up next to Rick's t-shirt still clutching his handkerchief. She felt so empty.
She didn't sleep well that night but woke up early nevertheless. After bathing, she put on her emerald underwear and a simple white dress and went out into the garden. It didn't look so different from Rick's, she decided. They didn't have any white roses like he did, nor an electric fountain, but they had red roses and azaleas, just as he did.
She wished she'd brought back a picture of him. But a picture wouldn't help much, she knew. She wanted to be in his arms, kiss him, touch him. She wanted to lie in his arms as she had their last night together. She wanted to make love with him and fall asleep with him and wake up with him.
Sounds of breakfast preparations brought her out of her reverie, and she realized she'd been crying. Wiping her eyes, she went inside.
She was sipping orange juice at the table when John came down for breakfast. "Good morning," he said, bending to kiss her cheek.
"Good morning."
"I'm starved. Louise, are there any hot rolls yet?" he called into the kitchen.
Their cook hurried in with a basket of pastries, setting them in front of John, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Want one?" he asked, pushing the basket toward Marie after helping himself to an apple danish.
"No thanks."
"Carolyn's coming to dinner tonight.” She hadn’t been able to come the previous evening.
"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing her again."
"Do you remember her brother Matthew?"
"Yes."
"I thought I might invite him as well."
"That's fine." She was in the process of raising her glass to her lips when her eyes met his. "No." She set her glass down. "I don't want to be paired with anyone."
"He loves going to the pictures, just like you do. And he has a very good job with--"
"I don't care, John. I'm not interested in seeing anyone."
"I know you just broke up with Davis two days ago, but a family dinner--"
"It has nothing to do with Davis. I just-I just want to be with my family for a while." The thought of being courted was revolting. Rick had said that they'd both eventually settle for someone else and get married, but she had no intention of marrying anyone else. She would never stop loving Rick.
After breakfast Marie felt restless and agreed to her mother's suggestion that they go shopping. But they'd no sooner begun browsing through the first shop than she began feeling panicky. She made herself look at dresses while her mother made her selections, but she wasn't paying attention.
"I'm going to buy this one," Mrs. Tranton said, holding up a navy blue dress.
"It's lovely."
"Haven't you found anything you like?"
"No."
"Well, maybe next door."
But once Mrs. Tranton had paid for her dress, Marie said, "Mother, do you mind if we go home? I'm not feeling well."
"What's wrong, darling?"
"I-I just have a headache."
At home Mrs. Tranton handed Marie some aspirin and a glass of water and suggested she go to her room for a nap. Marie went upstairs but didn't feel like lying down. Instead, she sat on her bed with her back against the headboard and her arms wrapped around her knees. Why did she feel so frightened? This was almost how she'd felt when she'd wandered into 2011. But then she'd been in a strange place; now she was home. She should be ecstatic. She'd tried for over five weeks to get home. Tuesday she'd spent a delightful day with her family, the best of her adult life. Her father had amazed her by showing her his love in a variety of ways. He and her brother had reconciled. She'd had several of the heart-to-heart talks with her mother that she'd longed for. She should be happier than she had ever been in her life.
But she was
n't. She was more miserable than she had ever been in her life. All she could think about was Rick. As hard as it was to admit, she missed him more than she'd missed her family. When she'd walked into 2011, she'd been frightened out of her mind. It had been so fantastic, so strange and sudden. She’d needed to make everything right, to make her life . . . normal . . . again. But if she'd met Rick here, fallen in love with him, and then had to-to go to China or somewhere with him and never seen her family again, would she have done it?
She hugged her knees, tears flowing down her cheeks. She knew without a doubt now that she would have. If she could have said good-bye to her family, let them know that she was safe and happy, she would have stayed with Rick. She realized now that she hadn't clung to the hope of getting home because she loved and needed and wanted her family and home more than she loved and needed and wanted Rick; she'd clung to that hope because of the feeling that she'd been . . . been . . . kidnapped, because of the need to right a world that had without warning gone fantastically awry, because of the need to reassure her parents. The change had been so abrupt and surreal. But now she knew that she would have adapted. She would have married Rick and had children with him and developed the sense of home that she'd missed.
Marie rocked on her bed, sobbing against her knees. Why couldn't she have realized all this before she'd had the opportunity to return?
She was still in bed, awake but numb, when her mother tapped on her door the next morning. "Marie? Are you awake?"
"Yes. Come in, Mother."
Mrs. Tranton went to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"All right." She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face.
"Your father and brother have already had breakfast. Would you like me to bring you a tray?"
"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."
Mrs. Tranton gazed down at her daughter for a moment. "Are you sure you can't go . . . go back to him?"
"Positive."
Mrs. Tranton plucked at the bedspread. "Do you sometimes wish you'd . . . you'd . . . slept with him?"
Marie's eyes widened, but then she turned her face away. "Yes."
Her mother nodded. "When I was 17, I met a young man named Andrew. I was staying with my aunt on Martha's Vineyard for the summer, and his family had a cottage not far from my aunt's. He was a student at Harvard during the year, and he was planning to be a doctor. We were inseparable from the moment we met. We went out to dinner, went to parties, sometimes just sat quietly reading together. But best of all, we would walk or sit on the beach for hours talking. He was wonderful, and I loved him with all my heart." She paused, smiling as she reached out to touch a lock of Marie's hair. "Every time we kissed, I felt it all over."
Marie's eyes flew to her mother's. "Why didn't you marry him?"
Mrs. Tranton's face sobered. "He died. He drowned trying to save his little cousin." She drew in a deep breath. "I believe in strong morals, but for a long time I wished that I had given myself to him. I wished I'd had the memories of that to sustain me. And I wished--" She stopped, pressing her lips together.
Marie looked at her. "You wished he'd gotten you with child."
Mrs. Tranton nodded, finally meeting her daughter's eyes again. "It would have made life difficult, and it would have been a shame and an embarrassment to my family. But I would have had a part of him. And I would have loved that child with every fiber of my being." She took Marie's hand, squeezing it. "I don't know if it's any comfort, but I understand how much you're hurting."
Marie burst into tears, hugging her mother. "I love him so much."
"I know."
After a few moments, Marie drew back to wipe her eyes. "What about Father?"
"I met him two years after I lost Andrew. Your father is a good man, Marie. He doesn't have the passion or sweetness Andrew had, but I do love him. And he gave me you and John, so I'd certainly never regret having married him."
"But you've never loved him like you did Andrew."
"There are different types of love."
"But you understand when I say that I don't want anyone else, that I could never love any other man the way I love Rick and that I don't want to settle for anything less."
"Yes, I understand. But--"
"No. If I can't have Rick, I don't want anyone." She cried against her mother's shoulder until her tears were exhausted. Was Rick as miserable as she was, she wondered. Was he sorry he'd made it possible for her to go home? Was he wishing they'd made love? Did he sit for hours just as she did, paralyzed with misery and loneliness, constantly thinking about her as she was constantly thinking about him?
"Why don't I get you some juice, darling?"
"No, thank you."
"I don't want you to get sick. I'll go get you some juice and a roll, and then we'll go for a drive."
Marie watched her mother leave. She’d drink the juice, but she didn't want to go out. All she wanted to do was sit here and think about the man she'd given up.