Sarah's Child by Linda Howard
“I’ve seen it,” he said thoughtfully. “I always thought it was a machine shop. Hell, that place is a dump!”
“Was a dump,” she corrected cheerfully, turning on the shower. When the water was warm, she stepped in and closed the door, which opened immediately. He got into the shower with her, his big body taking up most of the room and making her feel inordinately small. She looked up at him, her green eyes questioning as he took the bar of soap and rubbed up a rich lather in his hands.
“Turn around,” he ordered, and she did. He began sliding his hands over her back and shoulders, kneading her stiff, sore muscles, and she groaned aloud at the mingled pain and pleasure, her head hanging forward to allow him full access to her neck and shoulders. When she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, he knelt at her feet and gave the same thorough attention to her legs. She felt her muscles loosening as the pain eased, and she sighed in ecstasy. It was wonderful to have him pampering her, and not a day passed that she didn’t pinch herself to make certain it wasn’t a dream.
She wanted him to make love to her again, but he didn’t. He was already late, and she knew that although she could probably entice him back to bed, he’d resent it should she interfere with his work.
Rome had already left when Sarah went down to her car; he’d hurried through breakfast and gone without even kissing her good-bye, an omission that totally destroyed the warmth left by their morning of passion. She reminded herself over and over that she had to accept the limits of their relationship; they were married, but he didn’t love her, so she shouldn’t expect him to act like a lover.
Marcie hailed her as she opened her car door, and she paused, her eyes narrowed against the bright morning sun as the other woman crossed the small brown strip of grass between the street and the building. The weather was still cool, but Marcie was in her shirt-sleeves, an abstracted frown on her face.
“Good morning,” she said, and that was Marcie’s total nod to conventional chitchat. She plunged right to the point. “Sarah, were you going to hire anyone to help you in the store?”
“Of course,” Sarah said readily. She’d have to, just to give herself time enough to eat lunch. One person really couldn’t handle things, and even in its ramshackle condition, the little store had had a fairly steady stream of customers.
“Would you consider Derek? He can only help you after school and on weekends, but I’d appreciate it. I don’t like that grocery store where he’s working now,” Marcie said worriedly. “One of the cashiers is chasing him.”
“I’d love to have Derek,” Sarah said, and meant it. The boy was so strong and efficient, he could do whatever had to be done after school hours. She looked at Marcie and saw that her friend was really worried about her son.
“How old is the cashier?”
Marcie grunted in disgust. “She’s closer to my age than she is to Derek’s!”
“Does she know that he’s only fifteen? He looks so much older.”
“I know, I know. Sarah, girls from his school follow him home! He takes it all for granted, but it’s getting harder for me to handle. He was my baby!” she wailed. “He’s still just a baby! I wasn’t cut out to be the mother of a…a Greek god! Italian god,” she corrected herself, with scrupulous adherence to the facts.
“If Derek wants to work at the store, I’ll thank heaven for him every night.”
“He’d love to. He likes you, and he likes that sort of work. You don’t know how I appreciate it!”
Sarah smiled and waved away her thanks. Derek would take a huge load off her, and she liked having him around. Despite his spectacular looks, there was a calm, capable air about him that made her feel more comfortable. The only person who gave her a greater feeling of physical security was Rome.
“Why don’t you come by and see how the store’s shaping up?” she invited Marcie.
“Thanks, I will. If you have time today, why don’t I bring in lunch?”
“I never turn down lunch!”
She was proud of the store, she thought, as she pulled her little car into the parking area in back of the building. It sparkled under new paint, now pristine white, with crisp blue trim around the windows and on the door. The windows had been cleaned with a mixture of vinegar and lemon juice, and they literally sparkled in the morning sun. The diamond panes gave a homey air to the crowded little store, with its raw plank flooring and old-fashioned bins for the merchandise.
New shelves lined the walls, however, and the pottery took up one entire wall. Bright hues of red and blue, earth brown, and a unique salmon color, were splashed against the wall like an abstract design, because all of the pottery had been colorfully glazed. Homemade quilts were draped across a couple of ladder-back chairs, while others were neatly folded and stacked on the woven straw bottoms of the chairs. There were nails, hammers, screwdrivers, nuts and bolts, scissors, pins and needles, and scores of other small necessities, but already Sarah had ideas for expanding the selection. She would carry supplies for macramé, cross-stitching, candlewicking, and knitting, complete with patterns. Doll-making was very popular, and that could be another section; there were two more small rooms in back besides the pottery room and the tiny office, and she could turn one into a doll room, with everything necessary to make anything from a soft-sculpture doll to china dolls. Stuffed animals were another possibility. She had so many ideas, she feared she’d never have room for them all.
The small store brought her much more satisfaction than working in a large corporation ever had. She’d liked the demanding work at Spencer-Nyle, but the corporate structure really wasn’t for her; it was far too impersonal. This small, homey, and homely store was very personal, uniquely hers even in the short length of time she’d owned it. The soothing colors, the comfortable display of items, all spoke of her personal touch. She hadn’t hesitated at all when she’d learned by chance that the store was for sale; some intuition inside her had recognized that this was what she’d wanted. She’d looked at the building, and at the stock and hadn’t haggled. The price had been very reasonable, probably because of the condition of the building. Buying it had made a considerable dent in her savings, and the renovations had further depleted her funds, but she thought it was worth it. This was hers, something she’d bought herself and shaped to reflect her own personality.
The old building was drafty, and she turned on the ancient furnace, thinking that here was something else needing replacing. It was only October; what would it be like during January and February? A new roof and insulation was a necessity.
The store had been closed while she’d been cleaning and painting, and Derek had been putting in the new lighting fixtures. She’d been astonished that a boy his age would know how to do electrical wiring, but he’d explained it and made it all seem very simple. It was only after he’d done it that Sarah had gleaned from Marcie that he’d never done any wiring before; he’d simply read about it and decided to try it. As she flicked on the lights she noticed how much better the merchandise looked with the brighter, better-placed lighting. What would she have done without Derek? She wouldn’t be anywhere near ready to open.
But as it was…She took a deep breath and flipped the sign on the front door for the first time from CLOSED to OPEN FOR BUSINESS. Sarah’s store was officially open.
The little store had its own regular customers, who were used to dropping in and puttering around whenever someone needed a pack of finishing nails or a skein of yarn. She was never overflowing with business, but the place was seldom completely empty either. There was a slow relaxed pace about it, with people comfortably looking things over, commenting on the changes. She kept a pot of coffee on the counter, which encouraged people to come up and talk to her while they drank a free cup of coffee. She especially liked talking to old people, who had fascinating tales of making almost everything by hand in days long past.
The time passed so quickly that when she looked up to see Marcie coming in the door, she was amazed to realize it was time
“Sorry, I’m late,” Marcie panted. “I was just leaving when I got a call from a magazine on a proposal I’d submitted.”
Sarah’s eyes shone warmly. “Do they like it?”
“They do,” replied Marcie promptly. “Now all I have to do is think of something to write.”
Marcie was so organized, she could probably put her hands on a thousand pages of research material, so Sarah didn’t take the last comment seriously. “What type of article will it be?”
“It’s for one of the slicks, a women’s magazine. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it.” Marcie began emptying the paper bag she’d brought, putting a paper plate in front of Sarah and then filling it with fried chicken and cole slaw, with hot rolls on top of it. “`Marriages of Convenience—Past and Present,’ is what I think I’m going to call it. I know you’ve read something about them; at times they’ve been more the norm than the exception. You can call them arranged marriages. The fact is, people get married for a lot of reasons other than love. Convenience is one of the more common reasons, which is probably why they’re called marriages of convenience. Two people combine their assets, support each other, rather like a business partnership, except it’s a marriage and they sleep together.”
Amusement made Sarah’s eyes sparkle with a soft green. “You don’t believe in marriages in name only?”
Marcie gave her a disbelieving look. “Do you honestly know a man who’d be content with a platonic marriage? I’m talking about a normal, healthy man.”
“Usually, no, though I do think there are some situations—”
“Unusual situations,” Marcie put in.
“All right, unusual situations—”
“I still don’t think so,” Marcie interrupted again with blithe unconcern. “And you don’t either, because I can see the way you’re biting your tongue.”
Sarah laughed, because she had indeed been trying to get an argument out of Marcie, who loved to argue. “I give up. Let’s get back to your article.”
“I got the idea from a get-together I had with six of my old high school chums. We’d been having a good time, and the martinis had been flowing freely, you might say. Now, these aren’t unusual women, just your normal, everyday sort of female. Of the seven of us, two had gotten married because of a pregnancy, one because she’d never had many dates and thought his proposal might be the only chance she’d ever have, one admitted that she just sort of drifted into marriage because she’d gone with him for so long that everyone took it for granted that they’d get married, and one was very open about marrying her husband because of his money. She liked him, but his money was the main attraction. That’s five out of seven.”
“And the other two?”
“One was married because they were in love, and they still are. They’re almost embarrassing, even after all these years. The other one…well, I’m the other one. I got married because I thought I was in love. If you could see Derek’s father, you’d know why. But instead of love, it turned out to be sex, which was very good and remained good, but that just wasn’t enough to hold the marriage together.” For a rare pensive moment, Marcie rested her chin on her hand, thinking of her ex-husband. “Dominic and I had some good times, but in the end, we simply didn’t care enough about each other. But I think I’d do it all over again, even if I knew we’d eventually divorce, because I’d want Derek.”
“So, out of the seven, only one married for love?”
“Ummm. I haven’t done any real deep research yet, but I’ve talked to some men, and I’d almost believe that even more men marry for convenience than women. Men are very straightforward in their needs, and they still have a lot of the cavemen instincts.”
“Me Tarzan, you Jane?”
“In a way. They still want a fire and someone to cook the meat they bring home, bandage their wounds, do their laundry—which probably translates from curing the animal hides and making clothing—and a warm body when they need one. Simple, basic needs that haven’t changed all that much in substance; only the ritual is different. They marry to fulfill those needs.”
“You don’t paint a very romantic picture,” Sarah commented, beginning to feel chilled by Marcie’s precise descriptions. The conversation was reminding her too painfully of her own marriage. Rome had married her for all those reasons, and he’d been very open with her about them. He wanted a home, a stable relationship, convenient sex. In return, he’d be a faithful, dependable husband. A marriage of convenience for him. For her, a marriage of love.
“There’s romance in it,” Marcie continued thoughtfully, nibbling on a chicken leg. “Some people learn to love each other after they’re married. Most care for each other to some degree, even if it never becomes love. Some marriages don’t last. But I’m convinced that convenience is the basis for more marriages than most of us would like to admit.”
“I wonder how many people do fall in love after they’re married?” Sarah wondered aloud, unaware of the hint of wistfulness in her tone.
Marcie gave her a piercing look full of awareness, and a hint of pity. Sarah caught the look and knew immediately that Marcie had guessed how lukewarm Rome was in his feelings for his wife. She went pale and looked down, and Marcie put her hand on Sarah’s.
“I’m being such a pessimist,” Marcie said with false cheerfulness. “Probably men fall in love as readily as women, but they’re just too contrary to admit it.”
No, Rome admitted to loving. The trouble was, it was Diane he loved.
But again Sarah reminded herself that she’d take what she could. She couldn’t afford to be proud and turn him away because she demanded his complete devotion or nothing. The passing years had taught her that there’d be no other love for her, no other man to push Rome out of her heart.
Marcie tried to break the moment by looking around and exclaiming at the changes that had been made in the store since the last time she’d seen it. “Have you had many customers today?”
“More than I’d expected,” Sarah said, gratefully accepting the change of subject and wrenching her mind away from Rome. She looked around the small cozy store and had the painful thought that, in years to come, the store might be all she had. Age and familiarity would dilute Rome’s desire for her, and she could predict that his business trips would come more frequently and last longer. They’d achieved an easy physical intimacy and talked comfortably on a lot of subjects that never, never probed too deeply. Rome had set a limit on how close he would let her come, and he never allowed her to pass that boundary. He held her at an emotional distance, and Sarah shivered, feeling cold all over again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The small bell above the crafts shop door rang at ten minutes after five, signaling the arrival of someone else. The bell jangled all day long, surprising Sarah with its frequency, and she looked up automatically. Just as automatically, her heartbeat increased and her skin flushed as she met Rome’s dark eyes across the width of the store.
She was waiting on a customer, so he didn’t approach her. He lifted a straight black brow at her and began to wander through the aisles, examining the merchandise, his hands shoved into his pants pockets, his suit jacket open. He’d loosened his tie; the silk noose now allowed a good two inches of freedom about his neck. Sarah tried to help her customer, but at the same time she wanted to watch Rome; she felt nervous, and anxious for his approval, like a mother whose child was debuting in a school play. What if he made some comment of unenthusiastic praise? She didn’t know how she’d take it.
The middle-aged woman finally bought several skeins of yarn and a book of afghan patterns. As she left, Derek came out of the back and approached Sarah. “I’ve put that dead-bolt lock on the back door and cleaned up in back. Are you closing at five thirty? If you are, I won’t start painting that other room until tomorrow.”
Rome was slowly approaching, still looking over the merchandise, and Sarah eyed him over Derek’s
“I’ll follow you home, Mrs. Matthews,” Derek offered, but somehow it was firmer than an offer.
“That’s all right,” Rome said easily, coming up behind the boy. “I’ll stay with her until closing, if you want to go on home.”
Derek turned, his golden brown eyes meeting Rome’s darker ones. He’d seen Rome at a distance, so he knew immediately who the older man was, but they’d never been introduced. Sarah took care of that. “Rome, this is Derek Taliferro. Derek, my husband, Rome.”
Rome held out his hand, man-to-man, and Derek took it with complete ease, as if he’d expected nothing else. “Sir,” he said with his unshakable good manners.
“I’m glad to finally meet you,” said Rome. “Sarah raves about you. From what I hear, she wouldn’t have been able to open so soon without your help.”
“Thank you, sir. I was happy to help, and I like working with my hands.”
Evidently feeling that he’d said all that needed saying, Derek turned to Sarah. “I’ll go home, then. I called Mom after I got out of school, and she told me that she’s working on an article, so that probably means she’s forgotten about food. I’d better stuff a sandwich down her before she gets too weak to type. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Matthews.”
“Fine. Be careful,” she admonished.
He flashed her a brilliant smile, so bright, it was startling. “I’m always careful. I can’t afford to get stopped.”
When Derek had gone, Rome said suspiciously, “How is he getting home?”
“Driving,” Sarah said, grinning.
“And he’s just fifteen?”
She nodded. “But he never gets stopped, because he looks old enough to have a license. He’s an extremely good driver, of course. I can’t imagine him being anything else.” Then she couldn’t stand it any longer, and she burst out, “Well, what do you think?”