He turned his back on her and strode to the door, nearly tearing it from its hinges as he swung it open. "Well, forget that, doll.
Forget hobbling back to me. I won't want you by the time you're too battered and beaten to be valuable to anyone else." The parting words flung over his retreating shoulder were repeated in her head like a satanic chant and held sleep at bay. She tossed on her sofa bed, so uncomfortable and lonely after the nights she had stayed with Sean.
They had slept cradled against each other like pieces of a puzzle in his spacious bed. His breath had warmed her ear.
His arms had sheltered her. His hands . . .
Pam, laconic and disapproving, had driven Blair home, saying she might be needing her spare car the next few days. They said terse farewells.
She hadn't seen Sean as she left Pam's house. She'd only heard the furious cadence of his hammer as he pounded out his wrath on unfortunate nails.
She didn't want to concede, even to herself, how much she was going to miss him. For she had decided on the trip back to her garage apartment that she was moving back to the city immediately. It would be impossible to live within the shadow of his house, seeing him constantly, with this antipathy crackling between them like a spark, threatening to explode into an inferno that would consume them both.
She had begun packing that afternoon as soon as Pam had returned her to the apartment. Tomorrow morning she'd call Pam and explain why she couldn't continue teaching the dance classes. She belonged in the city where she could be on hand should anything break like today's audition.
Barney, when she'd notified him tonight, had been ecstatic.
The second thing she didn't want to admit to was the throbbing pain in both her knees. The emotional tumult of the afternoon had kept her from noticing it at first, but once she was alone, the increasing pain couldn't be denied. She had used heating pads and ice packs alternately to no avail. She had taken three aspirins together, then two hours later had been driven to take three more. Cursing and tears of frustration had done no good either. She had danced full force today, holding nothing back. She'd had to dance the lively routine repeatedly. Now she was paying for it. Sean would probably be pleased to know that she was feeling very battered and beaten.
Sean, Sean, Sean. Why did she crave the touch of his hands that soothed and aroused with equal aptitude? Why did she long for the seductive power of his mouth beneath that luxuriant mustache? Why did her hands long to knead the muscles of his back and shoulders, her fingers to lace through the hair on his chest, her lips to taste his own distinct essence, her body to "Damn!" she cursed the tears that welled in her eyes. Why was she crying over him more than she was her injured knees? His rebuke had been much harder to take than the rejection at the audition. Why?
There was only one answer and she wasn't ready to acknowledge it.
The telephone jangled loudly near her ear and jarred her out of sleep.
She moaned and buried her face in the pillow. It had taken her so long to fall asleep. How dare someone wake her up early after the night she'd had. The telephone rang again.
She pried her eyes open and saw that it was later than she first thought. Her clock indicated a few minutes past ten.
Her arm was tangled in the covers, and she worked with uncoordinated movements to free it in order to answer the telephone that continued to ring stridently. "Hold your horses," she grumbled as she lifted it off the base and pulled the receiver to her ear.
"Blair! " The voice she wanted most to hear. The voice that had haunted her all night was now speaking to her, but . .
"Blair?" he shouted impatiently.
"Y . . . yes? Sean? What?" "Is Pam with you?"
Befuddled, she looked around the room, almost thinking she might find Pam there. "No, why? She..." "Have you seen her? Do you know where she might be?" he demanded rudely.
"I . .." She wasn't surprised that he was still angry, but this wasn't like him to call and be deliberately rude. "Sean, is something wrong?"
"I've got to locate Pam or Joe. Andrew's had an accident. He's hurt."
"I was working on their roof. He climbed a ladder to bring me a sack of nails. The damn thing slipped and he fell. Hit his head on the slab.
He's unconscious and bleeding all over the place."
A trembling hand was pressed against her lips. Andrew, bright, vivacious Andrew, unconscious and bleeding? No, no. "Has . . . has he moved?
Did . . did you call an ambulance?"
"No, he hasn't moved and yes, I've called an ambulance. It's on the way. Pam left with the other children about an hour ago. Joe's sergeant is radioing him. I thought if I could head Pam off she could meet us at the hospital." Pam! Blair's heart constricted with the thought of what it would do to Pam if Andrew were seriously injured or . . . She clutched at her chest, imagining her friend's pain.
Sean said, "I've got to find her."
The telephone went dead in her hand.
God, please no, she silently cried. Not Andrew. Not Pam. He'll be all right. He has to be. Sean's there, with Sean! He's alone, so desperate. He adores that boy.
Shoved into action by some invisible, compelling hand, she lunged out of bed, crying out in pain when the hard contact with the floor shimmied up her shin to slam against her kneecaps. She gasped, trying to dodge the rockets of pain that threatened to make her nauseous.
Groping her way to her bureau, she found a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She shoved her feet into sandals and, disregarding the pain, dashed out the door and down the outside stairs.
"Oh, damn! The truck." Where she had expected to see Sean's Mercedes, the motorized relic was parked instead. She didn't have time to lament.
Reaching the bottom step, she leaped toward the ancient truck and jerked open the door. Sean had told her he always kept a spare key under the seat and, not even thinking about the filth under there as well, her searching fingers located it within a matter of seconds. She crammed it into the ignition and, praying that she would remember how to drive a standard transmission, turned it. Nothing.
"Damn!" she cursed. "Come on and start, you stupid truck." Her feet were working the clutch and accelerator alternately to no avail.
Blair lay her forehead against the steering wheel and gave in to the tears that had been threatening since she had first heard Sean's voice on the telephone. Flinging her head up, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and shook it. "I've got to go to him. I've got to.
Now, damn you, start!" she screamed. All her heartache, frustration, pain and despair poured into that curse. "Start! " Giving the truck one last useless chance, Blair thrust the door open.
She looked around her frantically, hopelessly, wringing her hands impotently. Her eyes swept Sean's backyard, and like a neon sign had pointed it out, her brain registered the alleyway running down the side of the house. "The shortcut," she whispered. Andrew's shortcut.
He'd bragged about it, told her how he'd already worn a path through the backyards and alleys to cover the blocks from Pam's house to Sean's.
Driven by some internal force, Blair started off at a run down the alley. She didn't think about the pain shooting up from her knees into her thighs, through her vital organs, along her spine straight to her brain. Indeed, she didn't even feel it.
Precious little Andrew. He loved her. Pam had said so. Pam, her best friend. Pam, whose sound advice and common sense she had often ridiculed, might be facing a crisis. She had always leaned on Pam's strength. It was time she returned the favor. Had she ever told Pam how much she valued her friendship? And Sean. He loved her. Or had, until she'd rejected his love. Don't give up on me yet, Sean.
Please.
Through backyards and alleys, she ran. Blair was oblivious to the curious stares of people working in their gardens or pausing in household chores to peer out the window at the woman running at a dead heat. She couldn't be mistaken for a casual jogger.
She didn't see the weeds that slashed at her bare legs or the stones that would leave bruises on her heels and the balls of her feet.
She saw only Sean, coming out of the sea, naked and alive and radiating life, exuding a confidence he could share with her.
She didn't hear her labored breathing crashing in her chest.
Sean's laughter boomed in her ears to the rhythm of her footfalls, his whispered words of love were the reason behind her thudding heart.
Those words had become a salve to her shattered spirit.
The perspiration that ran in myriad uncharted rivulets down her body went unheeded. Instead she felt Sean's caresses, tender and loving, strong and supportive.
How had she thought she could live without all he had to give? She had to get to him, tell him, show him she could be loving and caring.
She du) love, S care. This was one time in his life when he might need her.
She couldn't, mustn't let him down. Run! Only one more street.
Her legs pumped faster, working like the pistons of a well-oiled machine. She could see the skeletal framework of the roof Sean had been working on. Thank you, God. Thank you, God. I'm almost there, she prayed as she ran the last few yards.
She burst through the hedge of the house that was across the street from the Delgados'. Then everything went into slow motion. Blair saw them Sean, Pam, and Joe huddled over Andrew. He was sitting on the step on the front porch, a bloody cloth covering his forehead. He was all right! Wasn't he? He wouldn't be sitting up Joe looked up.
Seemingly from far away, she heard him shout, "Blair!"
Pam and Sean turned to her with the floating maneuvers of characters in a dream. Astonishment and horror twisted their faces into ugly grimaces.
They ran toward her, but gained no ground. She saw her name formed on Sean's lips, but didn't hear any sound.
She didn't know that she was running in a crouched position, her knees bent at a hideous angle, barely supporting her.
She felt a dull thud as her body struck the sidewalk when she collapsed upon it. She looked down, surprised to find herself on the hot concrete.
Then, for the first time in her life, she fainted.
"Absolutely not!"
"But Pam-" "Don't but Pam' me. I've told you this house is open to you if you want to recuperate here. I'll carry your bedpans. I'll cook your meals, wash your clothes, give you back rubs, anything. But I will not move you out of that apartment."
"Some friend you turned out to be," Blair complained from her sitting position in the bed.
It was four days since Andrew's accident. Andrew was fine, proudly sporting a large bandage on his temple. Blair had progressed to sitting up with a pillow under her knees. This morning she had refused to take the pain pills the doctor had prescribed. Her knees were barely aching and she had celebrated by asking Pam to dress her in a blouse and a pair of slacks.
Pam had put her in a tiny room that was too small for a bedroom but too large to be classified as a closet. It had served as a sewing/storage room. How Joe had squeezed the twin bed in there, Blair never knew.
When she had come out of her faint, smothered by pain, she'd been lying on it. For two days, the wracking pain had made her oblivious to her surroundings. Yesterday, she thought she might survive. Today, she was sure of it.
"I am your friend. I'd trust you to spend a weekend with my husband and know that nothing would happen, but I'll not do your dirty work for you. If you want to move out of Sean's apartment, out of his life, then you'll be the one to pay off your lease and hand him the key. Not me."
Pam huffed to a chair, the only other piece of furniture in the room, and plopped down, glaring at her friend with exasperation. "The two of you are driving me nuts, did you know that? He's been avoiding this part of the house like we all had the plague or something. He comes to work on the room addition. He leaves. He growls at anyone who gets in his path. He looks like hell, almost as bad as you do."
"Thanks," Blair cut in on the tirade.
"He thinks you despise him."
"Despise-" "Oh yes. He's thinking about as rationally as you are these days.
Since you ruined your knees running to help him with Andrew, he naturally assumes that you'll never forgive him for calling you that morning." That's insane.
"Insane the lady says," Pam addressed the ceiling. "Do you see now the kind of whackos I've been dealing with the past four days? And you don't want him to see you this way because he said in anger that he didn't want you hobbling back to him crippled. Well, I've had it," Pam said, jumping to her feet. "As I said, my home, my family, I am at your service until you get on your feet, but I just resigned as Cupid or Venus or whatever part I've been playing."
Oozing righteous indignation, she stalked to the door. "By the way, your mother called me to ask if you were glossing over what the doctor told you. She'll call you back in a day or two."
Blair extended her hand with a pleading look in her eyes. "Pam?"
The other woman crumpled and she returned to the side of the bed to take Blair's outstretched hand. "Thank you for everything."
"What made you pull such a dumb stunt, Blair? You knew that running over here like that would ruin your legs." Blair shrugged, sniffed back her tears and met Pam's concerned eyes. "I love you."
Pam had tears in her eyes, too. "I love you, too." The next few passing moments were rife with emotion. Then Pam said with soft intensity, "Let me call Sean to come in here to you."
Blair shook her head. "No. It's better this way."
Pam dropped her head. "That's your opinion of what's better." With that, she left, obviously still miffed by what she considered to be sheer stupidity on the part of two who should know better.
"Come in," Blair called when someone tapped on her door later that afternoon. She expected to see one of the children with yet another soulful creation of crayon marks on a sheet of manila paper. Her collection of such artistic renderings, the subjects of which were known only to the artist, now numbered eighteen. She was ready with an exclamation of surprise and praise on her lips. It died a sudden death when Sean stepped through the door.
For long moments four ravenous eyes gorged themselves. Looking for signs of suffering, they surveyed each other thoroughly. The diagnosis of each was that physically they were fine, but lines of strain, and pinched I eyesockets testified to an emotional malady that refused to heal.
"Pam said you wanted to see me," he said quietly. He barely fit between the foot of the bed and the door.
"She" Blair bit back her denial. The turbulence in his eyes was painful to see. He needed so badly to be forgiven, to be absolved from the guilt of bringing on her latest setback. For an instant her eyes dropped to the knotted white fingers in her lap. "Yes, I . . . I . .she said you blamed yourself for this." Her hand swept down to take in her knees. "Sean, you mustn't."
"But I do," he anguished. "If I hadn't asked Andrew for those nails, he wouldn't have stitches in his head and if I hadn't called you looking for Pam, you wouldn't be in here, feeling untold pain and.."
"I'm not in pain. Not anymore. And if I obey the doctor this time, I won't be again. It wasn't just running to Pam's house that brought me to this lowly state," she said with a soft laugh. "It was a combination of things. All of which you warned me against by the way."
She coaxed the slightest smile from him, but he wasn't ready to redeem himself. "Thank God Andrew only had the breath knocked out of him. I thought he was unconscious because of the blow on the head.
By the time Joe got here, he was lucid. When Pam arrived, she scolded us for using one of her best towels to stanch the blood. While she and I . . . while she took care of you, Joe drove him to the emergency room for his three stitches."
Blair laughed. "Pam says that bandage will rot off before he'll take it off."
"I wish it were that simple for you," he said quietly. "What does the doctor say?" He knew. He had accosted him as he left the Delgados'
house. Pam had called the doctor as soon as she and Sean had undressed Blair and gotten her into bed. She demanded that he come out to Tidelands as Blair wasn't fit to come into the city. He agreed, but at an exorbitant fee.
When the doctor had politely but firmly told Sean that he valued his practice too much to discuss a patient's condition with an outsider, Sean had been all too ready to tell the doctor just how much of an insider he was and that if the doctor valued his life as much as he did his practice, he'd better start talking. Swallowing around the iron fist that had made a garrote out of his Cardin necktie, the doctor had told him what Blair could expect for the next several months.
"I'm not to stand or walk on my own for two weeks, then I can start with short distances and gradually build up. I have to go to the hospital several times a week for ultrasonic treatments. He also recommended taking cortisone shots, but I don't want to. And I refuse to take pain pills," she said adamantly.
She ignored his snort of disagreement and went on. "In a month or so, he'll reassess the situation." Her voice changed. "If everything's healing well, I can start to build back my strength. If not," she said gruffly, "I may have to have surgery. That would entail months of therapy, and I'd more than likely never be able to dance again. At least not professionally.
He was quiet for a moment. Her prognosis matched the doctor's to the letter. He watched her as she picked at a loose thread on the bedspread.
"And if you had this surgery and all that it entailed, would you be devastated? " "Yes." She was still looking down so she didn't see the agonized expression that tore across his already ravaged face.
"Because you said you wouldn't want me anymore if I wasn't any good to anybody else. If I was*"
"Blair," he cried, rounding the bed and falling to his knees beside her.
"Is that why you'd be inconsolable? Because you'd think I didn't want you anymore?"
She nodded. "I would be a physical wreck, Sean. I'd have to be waited on, I'd have scars, I'd have to use a wheelchair until-"