Beneath a Southern Sky Page 22
He pulled on a rumpled flannel shirt and the jeans he’d worn the day before and went into the small kitchen, seeking Travis. A note beside the coffee maker told him that his colleague had gone to the clinic and that he would cover for him this morning. Cole looked around the kitchen for a clock and was startled to see that it was after ten o’clock. He wondered where Daria was right now.
Pouring himself a cup of coffee, his thoughts a million miles away, he barely noticed when the hot liquid burned his tongue and throat. Carrying the steaming mug into the living room, he sank down onto the shabby sofa. In spite of the bare-bones furnishings of the apartment, it was hard not to think of Daria in this place. The curtains she and her mother had made still hung in the lower halves of the windows, and the view of the bare treetops from the sofa was one they’d shared many an evening when they were dating. He shook off the thought and went back to the bedroom to get his shoes.
When he stepped outside, Dorothy Janek was just backing her ancient Ford Fairlane out of the garage. He waved and forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t stop to talk to him. But she maneuvered the old car around the curve in the driveway and stopped right beside him.
She rolled the window down and poked out her cheery grey head. “Well, hello, Cole. I thought that was your truck in the drive. Figured maybe Travis had borrowed it.”
“Hi, Dorothy. No, it’s me.”
Her raised eyebrow asked the obvious question, and he didn’t have the heart to leave her wondering. “We’ve had some trouble, Dorothy. Daria and I. You’ll probably be hearing—”
“Cole, no!” she gasped.
He grasped her car door where the window had just disappeared and leaned in to look at her. “It’s not what you think. It’s…” He ducked his head. How in heaven’s name did one explain a situation like this? He tried again, “We got word yesterday that Daria’s first husband—Natalie’s father—has been found alive in Colombia.”
Dorothy Janek’s hand flew to her mouth. “Alive? Oh, Cole. What will you do?”
He shook his head. “I wish I knew, Dorothy. I—For now I’ll be staying with Travis. I hope that’s okay with you and Kirk.”
She waved him off, obviously still stunned at the news. “Don’t even ask. You know you’re more than welcome anytime. But, Cole …I’m so sorry. I—” She put a hand to her breast, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. “I just don’t even know what to say, Cole. Is Daria—? Well, she’s still at your place, or you wouldn’t be sleeping here. Will she go back with him, Cole?” she asked gently.
“I don’t know.” He knew the woman’s questions were asked out of sympathy, but he was painfully aware that they were the questions everyone would be asking of him. He had no inkling how to answer them. “I don’t know,” he repeated.
She reached out to pat his hand. “Well, you just let us know if there’s anything we can do, anything at all. And if Daria needs us, please let her know we’re here for her, too.”
“I know that, Dorothy. And I appreciate it. Right now I guess we’re just taking one day at a time.”
Dorothy patted his hand again, and he covered her small, plump hand with his. “I need to get to the clinic,” he told her.
“Of course. I’m so sorry, Cole.”
He only nodded, his lips set in a grim line.
She revved the engine and backed away, and he went to his truck, debating whether he could face going to work. He drove toward the clinic, but when the driveway appeared, he kept going. The truck seemed to have a mind of its own, and he found himself headed out to their house. He needed to see Daria, needed to know how she was taking this, what she was thinking. They had left things unfinished. They’d both needed time alone to think, but he loved her, and this was their problem—they needed to work it out together.
A part of him felt guilty for leaving her alone last night, but he hadn’t had a choice. He couldn’t very well sleep in the same bed with another man’s wife. For that’s what she was, what she had been all their marriage. He wondered fleetingly if it was a sin to take another man’s wife if he thought the man was dead. But it didn’t help to ask those kinds of questions. There were no answers.
He parked in front of the garage and went in through the side door that led to the kitchen. Inside the house, it struck him that maybe he should have knocked. Now he shouted for her.
“Daria?”
Silence.
He called her name again and began walking through the house, looking for her. It could have been an ordinary day—he fresh home from work, anxious to see her, ready to roughhouse with Natalie. He walked down the hallway to Natalie’s room. It was empty, but he went in, stooping unconsciously to pick up several stray toys from the floor. He tossed them into the large wicker basket that served as a toy box and headed up the stairs to the room he and Daria shared—had shared. Would everything be in the past tense from this moment in his life? It was too much to comprehend.
He went into their room. The bed was neatly made, a row of pillows lined up on the headboard. He had always teased her about that. Who needed three pillows? He sat on the edge of Daria’s side of the bed and put his head in his hands. He was still sitting there twenty minutes later when he heard her car in the driveway. He forced himself to get up and go down to meet her.
As he came down the stairs, he called her name.
“Cole?” came her reply.
“I’m here.” He walked into the kitchen where she stood. He couldn’t stop himself from going to her and taking her in his arms. She burst into tears, clinging to him as though she would drown if she let go.
He wanted to stay like that forever, but after a while he pushed her gently away from him, took her hands, and looked into her eyes. Her lovely face was etched with misery. “You look like you had a night like I did.”
She gave him a sad smile.
“Where’s Natalie?”
“I took her back to my folks’. We’re going to stay there for a while. I can’t face this house. You can stay here, Cole. I just came to get some of our things.”
“No, Daria. I can’t face it any more than you can. Travis is going to put me up.” He looked down and scuffed the toe of his shoe on the floor. “We need to talk, okay?”
She nodded.
“I talked to Dennis Chastain again, and he’s pretty sure that our marriage is still valid. He’s still checking into the details, but he didn’t think that by law you are still married to Nate, too. Something about the law presuming a second marriage to be the valid one in a case like this.”
She let out a joyless laugh. “I can’t believe this has ever happened to anyone else.”
“I guess it happened some in wartime.”
“Oh.”
He hadn’t planned what he would say, but suddenly the words were pouring out of him. “Daria, I know you have to go see Nate. I know Natalie will have to see him. But you have to know that no matter what you decide, I can’t give her up. I love her as much as any father ever loved a daughter, and whatever happens I want to be able to see her. I know Nate probably has all the legal rights to his child, but I’m her father too, and I don’t intend to quit now just because this has happened.”
“Cole—” Daria started, but he cut her off.
“Maybe I’m being selfish, but I think it’s right for Natalie, too. She’s used to me. I’m the only one she’s ever called Daddy.”
“I know that, Cole,” Daria said. “I want you to see her. Always.” He didn’t recognize the strangled voice that came from her throat.
Always. The word seemed ripe with implications, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable with her. He let go of her hands and dropped his own hands to his side. “So you’ll take her to see him?”
She nodded, but said, “I want to go alone first…to see how he is. I don’t want this to frighten Nattie. But yes, then I’ll take her to see him.”
She sounded so strong. He didn’t like it. He wanted her to be weak, to need him the way he needed her.
And for the first time in his life, Colson Hunter began to understand the despair that had driven Bridgette to take her own life.
Twenty-Six
It rained on her all the way to Kansas City. She was glad for it.
The rain was fitting. The reason for this trip was excruciatingly difficult, and it would have been obscene under a bright spring sun.
Her parents had offered to come with her, but she was thankful now that she had declined their offer. This was something she had to do alone. And it comforted her to know that Natalie was safe and happy with her grandparents.
The hours on the road were a time of deep introspection. In a span of three and a half hours, she virtually relived her life. She thought of what Cole had said about Natalie. I can’t give her up, he’d said. What about me though? she thought. He hadn’t said he couldn’t give her up. For the hundredth time, she wondered if she would lose both of the men she loved.
Her exit loomed ahead, and the blue H sign confirmed that she was headed in the right direction. The Medical Center was a short distance, and she found a parking space near the entrance.
She went inside and inquired at the desk. The receptionist gave her Nate’s room number and pointed her down a long hallway. Daria walked slowly down the corridor, feeling confused and disoriented. Soon she would be face to face with the man she’d long thought dead. The man she’d longed for in her dreams. A dozen emotions fought for supremacy within her. Grief for the pain and anguish Nathan had suffered at the hands of the very people he had tried to help. Sorrow for all they had lost together. Joy for the precious, healing news he had been given about Natalie. And love for the man who had been her husband.
Yes, love remained. The closer she came to his presence, the more her longing grew. She ached to see Nathan’s face—to see for herself that he truly was alive. It all seemed so impossible after all this time.
She quickened her steps, suddenly anxious for the reunion.
Her eyes scanned the signs on the doors, darting nervously from one number to the next. She was only steps away from him, and her stomach turned somersaults inside her. She worried a little for the baby. Surely all this anxiety couldn’t be good for the child developing within her. Instinctively she put her hand over the small round of her stomach. In her seventh month, her pregnancy was obvious now to anyone who was looking, but she had purposely worn a bulky sweater in an attempt to conceal her condition. Nathan might not know she was carrying Cole’s child, and she didn’t want to upset him more than the news of her marriage had surely already upset him.
The door to room 227 was slightly ajar, and Daria raised a hand and knocked softly. No response. She pushed the door open and stepped into the room.
She heard his breathing before she saw his face. He was clean-shaven and his hair, which he’d always worn rather long, was cropped close. Under the thin sheets, his chest rose and fell in labored, wheezing breaths. One arm lay on top of the sheets and the drawn, mottled scars she saw there shocked her. For the first time, she comprehended the extent of the physical toll his ordeal had taken on him. The head of the narrow hospital bed was raised slightly, and she could see his face. The familiarity of his pose—one arm behind his head, his eyes closed, mouth slightly agape—took her breath away.
Joy flooded her being, and she hurried to his bedside.
“Nate! Nathan? Wake up.”
He started and opened his eyes. Daria smiled when she saw the recognition dawn there.
“Oh, dear Lord! Daria? Is it really you?”
“It’s me, sweetheart!” the endearment fell from her lips like a teardrop, unbidden.
He reached his arms out to her, struggling to sit up in the bed. “Oh, Daria.”
She sat down on the side of his bed and fell into his embrace as though she’d never left. He pulled her close, stroking her hair, both of them weeping like children.
She had expected their reunion to seem surreal, but now that she was in his arms, he had never been more real to her. He was thin and the scarring on his forearms was severe, but the strength of his embrace had not been diminished. Being in his arms felt so familiar to her that it was as though the years of their separation had been a mere blink.
He pushed her gently from him and reached up to touch her face, as though to prove to himself that she was actually sitting here in front of him.
“Oh, Daria. I can’t believe you’re really here.” Then he looked heavenward, “Thank you, Lord. Daria, I—” Fresh tears choked out the rest of his words. His voice was raspy, whether the result of his injuries or from emotion, she couldn’t tell.
Hot rivulets ran down Daria’s cheeks as well, yet she couldn’t stop smiling. She felt as though they had entered another world, strangely transported back to their beloved rain forest where they were the only two people in their world.
“How are you?” she asked him now, wanting to hear from his own lips.
“I’m okay.” He held out his arms for inspection, and she traced the scars lovingly. “I’ve got some pretty good scars to show for it, but I’m okay. Now.” He reached for her again, and she went into his embrace. He wept unashamedly for several minutes until finally he looked up at her. “Daria! We—Dad said we have a little girl?” The quiet joy on his face pierced her heart.
“Yes, Nate! A beautiful little girl. Her name is Natalie, after you. And, oh, she looks so much like you!”
Seeing Nate in front of her now, she was startled to realize how true it was. Strange how Natalie had always reminded her of Nathan, but now looking at Nathan the opposite was true. His eyes were Natalie’s. Even his demeanor was uncannily like his daughter’s.
He pointed to the nightstand beside his bed where framed photos of Natalie rested. “Mom brought some pictures.”
Daria picked them up and smiled at her daughter’s face. “She’s so like you, Nate.”
His eyes damp, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, Nate reached up and cradled her head in his hand and drew her face toward his.
An instant before his lips brushed her forehead, she realized that he meant to kiss her. Suddenly reality came crashing back. She shook herself to her senses and pushed away from him.
“Nate, I—”
He tried to draw her possessively, tenderly to himself again, but she leapt up and backed away from his bed, rubbing her arms frantically, as though she could brush away the intimacy of his touch.
“Nate, no! We have to talk.”
“Daria? What is it? What’s wrong? Is something wrong with the baby?”
She sank to the wide, low window sill across from his bed and put her head in her hands. O dear God! He doesn’t know. How could I be so foolish? Jack and Vera didn’t tell him that I’m remarried!
“No, Natalie’s fine, she’s fine. Oh, Nathan,” she sobbed. “Your parents didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what? What is it, Daria?”
Why hadn’t they told her that they were leaving it up to her to break the news to Nate?
“I don’t know how…how to tell you.”
She forced herself to calm down and took a deep breath, looking into his fathomless hazel eyes. “Nathan, you must understand. I-I thought you were dead. Quimico and Tados—they told us about the fire. They said you had died! How could I have known? Please don’t blame me.” Again she put her head in her hands, unable to continue.
“Daria, it’s all right. I understand what happened. I know you didn’t realize I’d survived. I know you would have come for me if you’d known.”
She shook her hands in frustration in front of her. “No, Nate, that’s not all. That’s not what I mean.”
“What’
s wrong, Daria? What are you trying to tell me?”
Though she didn’t look up, she heard the fear in his questions.
“Oh, God! This is too hard! I can’t do this to you, Nathan! I can’t do it. Oh, God, forgive me…”
Now he struggled to take a breath, and anger tinged his voice. “It’s the scars, isn’t it? I know I must look awful.”
“No! Nathan, no. Of course it’s not that. You don’t understand.”
“Daria! Tell me what this is about!” He sat upright, his jaw tense.
“I’m married, Nate.” Her voice came out like the growl of an injured beast. “We can’t be together. I’m married to someone else now,” she sobbed.
“What?” His face registered shock and utter disbelief. “No! What are you talking about, Daria? You are married to me!”
“No! It’s true, Nate. I-I thought you were dead. We all did.”
“No! There has to be a mistake! It can’t be true, Daria. You’re my wife! Why didn’t someone tell me?” He was shouting now, and his voice came out in terrible, breathless rasps. “We have a child, a daughter to raise. You are my wife!” he choked out. He fought against the linens and the IV lines that shackled him to the bed, and Daria feared he would tear the needles from his arms.
“Stop it, Nate! Stop! You’ll hurt yourself.”
She went to his side and tried to physically restrain him, but somehow she found herself in his embrace again, both of them sobbing bitterly.
After a long moment, she extricated herself from his arms and stood beside the bed, spent.
His head dropped into his hands, and he scrubbed his face as if to wash away the terrible truth. He must have seen in her tortured eyes that it was all true, everything she had said.
A ragged sob came from his throat, and he started to beat on the mattress with scarred fists.
“Nate, please.”
But he only punched harder and then began swinging his arms wildly, fighting the tubes and needles. He began to wheeze, struggling for air. Coughing racked his body, and he gasped for breath.