"Take me out of the darkness,
Out of doubt...
Will a change come while we're waiting?"
Sarah McLachlan: 'Witness'
From the album: 'Surfacing'
A muffled feminine groan sounded from somewhereunderneath the rumpled bedclothes. Morning sunlight streamed like aninsult through the translucent curtains, illuminating the cozybedroom. Since its first tentative venture into the room, a lance ofbrightness had slowly progressed down the wall to strike goldhighlights from the crown of shiny hair visible from beneath thethick comforter. Silence descended for several minutes, until anotherprotesting groan issued from the area of the bed.
'No no no,' thought Catherine vaguely as sheshifted to her side and drew the covers more tightly around her neck.'Don't think about it and it will go away. Go. Away.' Determinedly,she snuggled down into her warm haven. Sleeping in had become such aluxury that it was to be ended only reluctantly. Relentless, thepressure in her lower abdomen continued to build, sending out ademanding throb. "Damn it!" Blankets flew as she sat up abruptly andstalked into the bathroom. That particular necessity taken care of,she returned to the bedroom, wrestling with the desire to go back tobed vs. the chores she had promised herself would be taken care oftoday. A glance at the clock revealed it was shortly afternine-thirty. Mentally Catherine measured out the time to make two tothree appointments, and with a reluctant sigh shrugged on a warmterrycloth robe and made her way to the kitchen.
Coffee was always the first order of the day.Long days and even longer nights working for the DA's office hadreinforced her personal addiction and she knew she was a real cowbefore that first cup. Mechanically Catherine measured the threescoops of French Roast it took to give the morning kick‑start,and started the small four-cup coffee maker brewing. As the wonderfularoma of premium grade Colombian began to fill the apartment,Catherine couldn't repress a small smile at the memory itsummoned.
"Hold me tighter. Tighter!"
Catherine had felt his anxious presencearrive on her balcony as she began her shower. Rushing through it,she simply ran a comb through her wet hair and set about getting ridof Jenny. Poor Jenny. Joe must have asked her to come; it was good tohave such loyal and caring friends. Jenny had picked up onCatherine's meaning after a few seconds, and had made herself scarcein short order. Seconds later Catherine had rushed to the balcony andto Vincent's desperate embrace.
He had been shaking. Catherine wrapped herarms more tightly around his neck, pulling him down to surround her,lending him her strength as much as he gave her his own. He hadburied his face in her neck. His breath had gusted warmly into herhairline. They had clung to each other for who knows how long, simplydrinking in each other's presence. Incoherent murmurs were exchangedand they had both cried in remembered horror, and in relief.Gradually however, in the way of things, the world reasserted itselfand she shivered as the cold March wind chilled her back.
"It's too cold for you out here. You shouldgo inside now."
"No! Please don't leave. Will you& comeinside with me? It's warm there, and we could still make that fire."
Catherine couldn't help but remember, beforethis had all begun, how close he had come to crossing this somehowforbidden threshold to her world. She had felt his arms loosen as hestraightened, and an arrow of panic had flashed through her. Surelyafter this night's near tragedy he wouldn't let that invisiblebarrier keep them apart?
Vincent had drawn a sharp breath as her paniccommunicated itself to him through their bond. Wordlessly, he bentdown and swept her up into his arms. The French doors were still openand two strides took him through them into her apartment. As hemoved, a squelching noise surfaced with each footfall. He had loweredher to her feet, turned, and closed the French doors behind himselfdecisively.
For a moment she had been unable to move,only to stare. After two years, to see him finally enter her home! Helooked so good in it. But he was staring down, at his feet. Her eyesfollowed his and looked at his boots, still wet and caked withhalf-dry lake mud. Black footprints marred the light carpet.
"Vincent! Your poor feet, they must befrozen! Stay right there! Don't move!" Backing up as she issued herorders, she had turned and half ran to the bedroom. In front of herdresser, she had knelt down and opened the tightly packed bottomdrawer.
What was it about love that it made you wantto give? So many times, walking through Saks or some other FifthAvenue shopping Mecca, her feet had turned and of their own accordled her to the men's department. Her fingers had trailed over softsweaters and warm trousers, and she had imagined Vincent wearingthem. Often, she found herself unable to resist a purchase. Ofcourse, most of the time the impulsive buys had ended up here, hiddenlike guilty little treasures. Rationally, she knew that these giftswould make Vincent uncomfortable, especially since he would feel hehad nothing to give in return. At least that was what he would think.What he gave her in truth were things that money could never buy, andinfinitely more precious than any material object.
Two of her purchases in particular had cometo mind, and it was these she sought as items were sifted through andremoved. The beautiful cream-colored Aran-style wool sweater she hadfound in that lovely Irish store was moved to the side. An L.L. Beancatalogue had made its way around the office, and the pair of warmflannel lined denim jeans, and matching shirt she had been unable toresist ordering were taken out next. A visit to the Ralph Laurenboutique had resulted in the forest green flannel robe, monogrammedwith a medieval styled 'V' in burgundy and gold. 'Maybe, someday' shehad mused briefly as it too was shifted to the side. One of the itemsshe sought came up next. A pair of warm double knit wool socks, sizeMen's Extra Large, purchased in anticipation of woodland hikes forthe ill‑fated trip to Connecticut. And there, beneath them,were the handmade sheepskin slippers she had acquired from acraftsperson's booth at a mall just before Christmas last year, softbrown on the outside and creamy fleece inside. Sweeping both itemsup, she had grabbed a clean towel and returned to the living room.
Vincent had been surprised, but grateful forthe gifts. She had pawned their presence off as being bought for herfather, and if he had sensed a falsehood, he had let it pass. She hadoffered to make some hot tea, and left him in privacy to dry his feetand change. A few months previously she had made them cocoa, for achilly fall evening on the balcony. After forcing himself to drinkhalf of it, she had wormed out of him the fact that he didn't likechocolate. Tea was fine and dandy, but tonight Catherine felt theneed for something a bit stronger. For herself, she had brewedcoffee, strong. She wouldn't be sleeping for quite some time anyway.
She had returned to the living room to findVincent coaxing along the beginnings of a good blaze in thefireplace, his boots set to dry nearby. She had tossed some cushionson the floor beside him and passed him his tea, sweet the way heliked it. Together they had sat quietly, absorbing the warmth of thehot drinks, but more importantly each other's presence. Catherineleaned against Vincent, his warmth and strength a balm to her frayednerves. Tentatively, his arm came around her waist, pulling hergently against him. Warm and contented, Catherine felt his chestexpand as he sniffed the air quietly.
"What is it?"
"Your coffee. We don't have it below; theexpense makes it prohibitive. What a wonderful smell".
Catherine had lowered her head to her cupappreciatively. "Would you like to try a sip?" she had asked. At hisquiet affirmation, she had passed her cup to him. Briefly their eyeshad met as he took a mouthful.
If eyes could be said to shrink into one'shead! White canine teeth had flashed as Vincent's face crumpled intoa grimace worthy of a contortionist. His tongue had made a briefappearance and shudder rumpled his body. A rough choke had followedas he forced himself to swallow, followed by several coughs andsnorts through his nose. "Gahh!"
Catherine had watched, horrified, as thetruth dawned. She liked her coffee black. Vincent needed two spoonsof sugar to even make tea palatable to him. She had stammered out anapology as Vincent attempted to rid his mouth of the horriblebitterness, making helpless grunts of disgust. Suddenly, the tighttension and fear of the evening, which had never quite left her,melted away. Dear dignified Vincent, her strong and brave rescuer,looking for all the world like a two-year-old hating strained peas!Catherine had collapsed forward onto his shoulder, helplessly shakenby gales of laughter. Though the bond, Vincent couldn't help but pickup on her hilarity. They had laughed together for a long time. Theyhad needed it, and healing had begun.
The memory could still make her chuckle. Sheneeded to laugh, after the last few weeks. Closing her eyes, sheconcentrated on sending the memory along with her love, picturing itin her mind as an arrow sent below to find Vincent. Rising to fetchdown a mug from the cupboard, her eyes widened and she almoststumbled. Was that what she thought it was? His answer? A warm swellof love, somehow subtly different from her own emotions. Andsomething else. Hope. Catherine closed her eyes and breathed ananswering prayer that all was not lost, that there was still a chancefor them.
Wandering over to her desk while the coffeemachine popped and burbled, she rooted through the top drawer andpulled out her address book. It would be a miracle to get a hairappointment with Marcel, but hopefully the memory of her usualgenerous tip would ensure he found an available space. Dropping downon a couch, Catherine was startled from her musings by a loud,piercing ring. With a yelp, she dropped the address book and snatchedat the phone, practically dropping the receiver in her haste.
"Hello!" she practically shouted.
"Whoa! Wake up on the wrong side of the bed thismorning?" The lilting, teasing voice of her friend Jenny madeCatherine smile in chagrin.
"Sorry. I just got up. Didn't mean to take yourear off."
"Don't tell me ‑ no coffee yet, huh?" Thetwo friends chucked at Catherine's well known and reluctantlyacknowledged foible. "Listen, I know things have been a little crazylately, so I thought I'd just remind you about our brunch withNancy."
Catherine couldn't help but grin. This date hadbeen planned weeks in advance. It wasn't often Nancy Tucker came into New York from her suburban home in Connecticut, but during thoseinfrequent visits the three always made a determined effort to gettogether. "Relax, I haven't forgotten. Tomorrow, eleven o'clock atThe Snow Goose. I'll be
A few moments' silence greeted her statement."Cathy... what time zone are you in? Tomorrow is Monday. Today
"You're kidding, right?"
"Cath, are you sure you're alright? If you'renot feeling well&"
"No. I'm fine, really. I guess I must have beenmore tired than I realized. Wow." Catherine quickly glanced at theclock. It was just past ten o'clock. "Oh. Oh my God! Thanks forcalling. I'll see you there. I gotta go!" Catherine could hearJenny's laughter as she hung up and scurried for the shower.
Catherine saw her reflection in the glass dooras she hurried up the stairs and grimaced in distaste. For somereason, her normally well-behaved hair had chosen today to have atantrum. It was only liberal use of styling mousse that held it anapproximation of its customary smooth sweep. The majority of personalgrooming chores that should have been accomplished on the vanishedSaturday had had to be put off yet again. Plucking her eyebrows nowwould only result in red swelling and besides, after wrestling withher hair there hadn't been time. She hadbeen planning on wearing her new green jersey dress, but one look ather legs as she began to put on panty hose had axed that plan, too.Instead, she had dug out a pair of black dress slacks, and pairedthem with a turquoise angora sweater. After that, just some make up.Impulsively, she had decided to wear her crystal, usually kept safein a velvet bag for special occasions.
The Snow Goose was one of the newer restaurantsto open its doors in Manhattan. It was located on the first floor ofa converted brownstone, and it had received very flattering reviewsin several newspapers for its brunch menu. Reaching the top of thestairs, she opened the glass doors and entered a warm wood-paneledlobby. The lobby hostess had directed her to the rear of therestaurant, where the 'Tucker Reservation' had been waiting for her.The restaurant was functioning at capacity, by the looks of the fulltables discreetly placed for maximum privacy. The renovated formerhome still contained individual rooms, and in the one furthest back,which contained only four tables, Catherine finally found Nancy andJenny, pouring over menus.
"Oh, my God! Look who finally deigned to graceus with her presence. Sleeping Beauty herself." Jenny's eyes twinkleddevilishly as she mercilessly teased her friend.
"Can it, Aaronson. You're just jealous,"Catherine replied as she sank into her chair with a smile.
"So who is he?" Nancy asked slyly.
Catherine stiffened, automatically defensive, asher hand twitched toward her crystal. 'Don't be such an idiot' shechastised herself. 'Relax'. "Who do you mean?"
"Why, the fellow who could keep you in bed for awhole day without you even knowing it, that's who. No one just losesa day without reason." Nancy answered with an evil smile. Placing herhands in a posture of prayer, she spoke in a deep voice. "Confessionis good for the soul."
Catherine erupted into giggles as she feignedtossing her napkin across the table. Instead she smoothed it onto herlap and took the opportunity to control herself. "Uh oh. Don't tellme it's going to be one of thoselunches? Jenny, help me over here."
Jenny held up her hands in mock surrender. "Hey,you're the one who was late! We spent a good few minutes gossipingabout you in revenge and now you'll pay the price. I declare itofficial Pick On Cathy Day."
"Oh, thanks a bunch, friend
The waiter cleared his throat from behindCatherine to gain their attention. Surely a student, he didn't look aday over twenty. Automatically he recited the brunch specials andleft them to mull over their choices.
As he walked away, Jenny sighed. "Are we gettingold, or what? Remember Adolfo's?"
Nancy and Catherine grinned and nodded at thereminder of their old college haunt, a small Italian restaurant nearthe dorm, a favorite of many students for inexpensive but deliciousmeals.
"Remember Mario?"
"Ohhhhh, yes," Nancy replied slowly. "Who couldforget him? He was such ahunk." Mario had been the eldest son of the owner and worked mostevenings in the restaurant. "We weren't the only ones who found himas yummy as the food."
Beside her, Catherine snorted indelicately.
"Well, I hate to say it, but that 'kid' who iswaiting on us is probably the same age he was." Groans of disgustgreeted Jenny's observation.
"Shut up, Aaronson, or you'll have us thoroughlydepressed. We're not in the retirement home yet!" Catherineresponded. "Besides, the distinguished-looking gentlemen over at thenext table hasn't stopped checking you out since I sat down."
"Who? Which one?" Both Nancy and Jenny tried todiscreetly locate the mystery admirer. Finally Jenny resorted to theold trick of checking makeup with a compact mirror, using it to lookbehind her without turning around. This of course, as planned, sentNancy and Catherine into near hysterics.
"Ahem." The young waiter was back, and patientlywaited for the ladies to pull themselves together. Behind them, anequally youthful blond girl bore a tray to another table, and thearomas of whatever was on the plates wafted over to Catherine. Herstomach chose that particular time to let loose with a particularloud and embarrassing curl of hunger.
Nancy and Jenny both ordered coffee, freshorange juice, and the strawberry praline waffles.
Catherine opened her mouth to echo their orderwith the same, when she felt her stomach cramp in hunger. The smellof whatever the people nearby were having caught her attention again.A discreet inquiry of what they were having netted a description of aprovolone vegetable omelet, served with maple smoked ham, garlicsautéed potatoes, and buttered toast with preserves.Enthusiastically, Catherine indicated she would have that aswell.
As the waiter left, Catherine noted both Jenny'sand Nancy's stare of astonishment. "What?" she asked. "I'mstarving!"
"Well," drawled Jenny. "I suppose we have tounderstand. After all, she did 'sleep' all day yesterday. Orsomething& I suppose she's earned it." This set them off inanother round of hysterical giggles. The rest of the time waiting fortheir meals was spent reminiscing, catching up, and in the mercilessbut lighthearted teasing that had marked their relationship since thebeginning. Once the meals arrived, however, things quieted down.
For a moment, Catherine felt a twinge of guilt.Vincent, far below, was wrestling with their future, and here she wasstuffing herself silly. It was puzzling. Usually stress had theopposite effect on her. Generally, her appetite deserted her, and itbecame necessary to force herself to eat. Well, that certainly wasn'ta problem today. With relish, Catherine tucked into the deliciousfood and, to both Nancy's and Jenny's amazement, didn't leave amorsel unconsumed. The three friends spent the next hour lingeringover coffee, being unashamedly silly, and generally having awonderful visit.
The FreshMarket was usually packed on Sundays,and today was no exception. Catherine knew for a fact, however, thatwith all her time in the last week spent divided between Below andthe office, her refrigerator contained nothing but some cartons ofChinese food probably dating back to the Ming Dynasty, and assortedcondiments. A blanket of tiredness settled over her as she maneuveredher shopping cart around the fruit displays. Maybe Nancy was right,maybe she was coming down with something after all.
The brunch had been great. It was always so goodto spend time with Nance and Jenny. The three of them always had suchfun during their little get-togethers and the relaxed change ofscenery had done her good. Mentally more than physically, Catherinethought wryly. If she kept eating like she had, the 'physical' mightend up being a lot larger than she was used to. It was unfortunatethat Jenny had had to bow out early. Of course, Nancy and Catherinehad managed to wriggle out of her that she was meeting "someone" in acouple of hours, and had only permitted her to leave after beingpromised specifics later.
Once Jenny left, Nancy had taken the opportunityto concentrate on her friend. Catherine smiled to herself as sheremembered Nancy's concern over her relationship with Vincent, andhow it was going. Since the night she had bolted back to New Yorkwith Nancy's car, they had spoken several times briefly on the phone,but Nancy had never pried.
Catherine had told her some of it. Especiallyabout how Vincent had been very sick lately, and she had beenspending all her time with him as he recovered. For some reason,Nancy's reply haunted her: "you'd better be careful, Cathy. Maybewhat he had is catching. I wasn't going to say anything, but you lookso dragged out and tired. You've got to take better care of yourself.It won't do him any good if you get sick too."
Well, she felt tired now. Catherine reached upto rub between her eyes. The feeling of dense tension that hadstarted as she left the restaurant was increasing. Maybe Nancy wasright. There had
Seventy-five dollars later, Catherine waswondering what happened to the 'bread, milk, yogurt and fruit' ideashe had when she first entered. For some reason she had been unableto resist several purchases, including the box of six sinful lookingcheese Danishes she had dropped into the cart. A decision just totaste one on the drive home had resulted, to Catherine's horror, inthe disappearance of the entire box.
Walking into her bedroom to undress, Catherinenoted she had not even had time to make the bed this morning. It wassooo... tempting. Another wash of dizziness swept over her. The clockbeside the bed read three thirty. Perhaps a short nap was called for.If she wasn't sleepy later, maybe she'd go below and visit Father. Hewas probably lonely without Vincent and would welcome a new victim...err pupil, for chess. With a contented sigh, Catherine crawled intobed and fell instantly asleep.
Phone. That was the phone. Ringing.
A hand reached out from under the covers togrope its way to the insistent telephone on the night table. Thereceiver disappeared underneath the pastel comforter. A roughclearing of throat sounded and a slightly raspy voice issued from thewarm nest.
"Hello."
"Radcliffe? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me, Joe. What's up?" The coversshifted as the disheveled, nude figure began to dig her way to thesurface.
"If you're going to take a sick day, I wishyou'd call."
A feeling of dread spread over Catherine.Lifting the covers and sliding her feet to the floor, she noted heralarm clock read ten fifteen. It was easy to read, with the daylightstreaming in through the French doors. Daylight. It must be Monday.'Oh no, not again'. "I'm sorry. I overslept. I'll be in as soon as Ican."
"Listen, you don't sound so good. Don't bothercoming into the office if you're sick, we can handle things."
Catherine cleared her throat again. "No, I'mfine. I'll be there in an hour or so, OK?" Receiving his reluctantaffirmative, she hung up and rushed for the bathroom. A few minuteslater she walked slowly, almost dazedly, back to the phone. DialingJoe's office extension, in a rough trembling voice she informed himthat she would indeed be taking a sick day after all. Immediatelyafterwards, she dialed another number.
"Dr. Peter Alcott, please....