Jennifer Greene - Wintergreen

So why, she thought idly, did she feel so scared?

The ring winked at her again as she made a left turn. She knew why he’d given it to her exactly the way he had. No soft lights and intoxicating seduction. He’d wanted a commitment from the soul, a clear-cut, honest decision that came from love. We’ve tackled Johnny and my father and your feelings about the past, Misha. You were wary when we first met. I don’t want the shadows. I want it to be you and me alone, and I want you to be damned sure.

It was amazing, what an inanimate ring could say.

“Mom,” Johnny said patiently, “how many times are you going to keep circling the block?”

She glanced at her son in the rearview mirror. “One more time. Anything wrong with that?” She couldn’t afford to believe there was a jinx on a second time around.

“Flight three-oh-three to Toronto and Montreal now boarding at gate three-oh-seven. All passengers…”

“Misha?”

Lorna’s head jerked up as Matthew touched her arm, her hand nearly knocking over the coffee cup as she hurriedly stood up. Her nervous clumsiness embarrassed her; she flushed as she said brightly, “Finally! I was beginning to think they were going to ground the plane because of snow.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

Lorna raised teasing eyebrows as she snatched up her purse. “You mean you wouldn’t let them. I know exactly what’s on your mind, Mr. Whitaker.”

“So do I.” He linked a protective arm through hers after dropping a bill on the table, and they worked their way through the crowded airport. “And I would like to tell you in exact detail what else I have on my mind when I have you completely alone.” The low, husky drawl was whispered in her ear, just as if there weren’t a thousand people all around them.

Lorna shivered, a response she could no more have controlled than she could control her breathing. They had waited more than an hour for their flight to Quebec. Metropolitan International Airport was filled with people who had waited hours for flights delayed because of the blizzard outside.

The walk to their boarding gate would have been lengthy on roller skates. As it was, no one seemed inclined to move willingly to get out of their way. Fractious children with hot red faces were tired of wearing heavy coats and holding their belongings and sitting still. Their mothers, once dressed and coiffed and made up for travel, had wilted. Businessmen swung briefcases like lethal weapons, and the confusion of noise was incredible. The airport loudspeaker was paging particular individuals to remove themselves from the list of lost persons, to pick up their tickets, to answer a summons to speak to someone. Trolleys were clattering through the terminal, laden with luggage; adults were chattering at fevered pitches and babies were crying.

Lorna felt like a pincushion with too many pins piercing her all at once, which was undoubtedly why her pulse kept beating in this strange, fluttery rhythm. Her hands were atypically clammy. For a short time, in the quiet of the small coffee shop, she even wondered if she was coming down with a fever. Her stomach was churning; her legs felt shaky…

She knew none of it showed. Matthew’s eyes would have picked it up if she hadn’t looked well, and when she’d looked in the mirror at home before leaving for the airport, it had told her that for some strange reason, she almost looked beautiful. Bone-colored pumps complemented good-looking legs. Her traveling suit was burnt orange, a favorite color, the wool skirt clinging very nicely to her slim hips; she’d eaten cottage-cheese lunches for a week so that she could afford to buy the cream-colored silk blouse that was so flattering. Her chestnut hair had a gloss like sun glow; her eyes had been subtly, alluringly made up… A healthy, lovely woman had stared at her from the mirror that morning. A woman who loved, a woman who looked loved.

Don’t hurt him, Mr. Whitaker had warned her.

“Misha-” Matthew clutched her shoulder, weaving her out of the way of a man in an airport uniform racing down the corridor. She hadn’t even seen him.

There was something wrong with her. Adrenaline was speeding through her veins; her stomach was cramping; she felt the strangest feeling of dread hammering in her temples. She was reminded of her college days, waiting for the test to be passed out in Chemistry 101; it was like the day she had taken Johnny to the emergency room with a bump on his head and they had insisted she stay out in the waiting room. She didn’t even notice the man in the red sports coat eye her up and down suggestively, nor did she see Matthew icily outstare him until the stranger flushed and turned away. A child raced past her; she barely felt the jolt.

Finally, they reached the last turn of the long corridor. A few hundred feet ahead was the small cubbyhole where a stewardess was checking tickets. After this automatic procedure, they would be in Quebec in a few hours, just the two of them at the Château Frontenac. Fourteen days of sheer luxury vacation. A honeymoon ahead of time? she had joked to Matthew. He informed her that they needed at least that much time anyway. One week in a cold climate, one week in a hot. To see which they liked best. And if they needed to test out any other temperatures that suited her fancy…

“Wait here, Misha. You don’t have to join that madhouse yet…”

She watched the man she loved more than life detach himself from her and join the rest of the throng of humanity trying to bully the stewardess into letting them go first. Matthew was different. She wasn’t in the least biased. He was simply without question the most handsome man there, but it wasn’t just that. It was that shock of dark hair on his forehead, and those grave dark eyes. His quietness, a total control and assurance that set him apart. The character lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders fit a suit.

A brown-eyed blonde kept looking at him. Lorna stepped ahead just a little, blocking the woman’s view. He was handing the tickets to the stewardess. She said something. He chuckled in return, his heart-stopping mouth slashing in a smile, and the stewardess’s eyes lit up. He had relaxed her in the frazzle of confusion; that was his way. Almost instantly, he was looking up again, searching the crowd for Lorna.

She saw the grave look in his eyes when he didn’t immediately spot her, though she had only moved a few feet. She saw that special light immediately go out of his eyes, and her hands started trembling. Just be very sure that you do nothing to hurt my son. Why couldn’t she get the damn sentence out of her mind?

The crowd started boarding, all in a rush. His eyes captured hers. Captured, held, scolded her for moving, rejoiced that he had found her, and…loved her. He motioned, but she suddenly couldn’t move. For some insane reason, there were tears in her eyes, and a lump so thick in the back of her throat that she couldn’t breathe.

“Misha?” This time it was Matthew who bumped into people without noticing. Concern etched sharp lines around his eyes as he hurried toward her, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch her cheek. “Darling, what’s wrong? We’ve only got another minute to get on-”

“I can’t marry you, Matthew. I’m sorry. I can’t go on that plane. I can’t. I…can’t…” It was all in desperate, choked whispers. Not because of the crowd. She didn’t even see the crowd. She only saw Matthew’s face. The smile set suddenly in steel, shock, bewilderment, the haunting chill of stark pain, that special loving light in his eyes dimmed.

“Misha. If it’s leaving Johnny, you know he fell in love with Mr. Rudowsky. And Freda’s just next door…” She could tell that he knew it wasn’t anything to do with Johnny. She’d never seen a man’s face go totally ashen, and her heart lurched. Splintered. “You don’t mean it, dammit. Misha. I love you. I know damn well you love me.”

“Last call for flight three-oh-three to Toronto and Montreal.”

“I love you, Matthew. But I can’t marry you. I won’t. It’s just…wrong. I should have known-”

Matthew cast a distraught glance at the stewardess, who was motioning them toward the plane. It was past time. The cubbyhole of a lobby had emptied of everyone else. There were only the two of them. And a plane that wouldn’t wait. Matthew grasped her shoulders and tugged. “Dammit. You’re coming on that plane with me. We’ll talk there. This is no time-”

“No,” she said desperately. “Matthew. I mean it. I’m not going.”

“Mr. Whitaker, I’m sorry, but-”

He motioned the pretty stewardess away, his eyes never leaving Lorna’s. Boring into hers. “I’m going to marry you, Misha.”

She shook her head wildly. “Go,” she whispered. “You were planning on this vacation anyway, Matthew. Take it. Get away. You’ll see I’m right.”

She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes any longer. She couldn’t stand herself. When she glimpsed the small sign for the women’s room across the hall, she headed toward it. She heard his shout, but she had already taken off at a run.

The heel of her hand jammed against the door and just that quickly she was through. Inside, away from him. She leaned back against the white-tiled wall, gasping, aching for breath…

Through eyes blurred by tears, she suddenly realized there was a woman gaping at her. She was not alone in the restroom. The other woman was older, with a sparkle of white hair shining with a blue rinse; she was dressed all in powder blue. “You just have to leave a loved one behind, too, honey?”

“I…” Lorna saw that the other woman, too, had tears in her eyes. “Yes.” Go away, please.

The lady talked. How hard it was to let her husband get on the plane, how she hated separations. Lorna didn’t hear. She wrenched herself away from the wall and pretended to get a brush and lipstick out of her purse. Tears kept flowing out of her eyes. Big, fat tears, agonizingly slow. They wouldn’t stop. She pretended she could see herself in the mirror and applied powder over the tears, which didn’t have any effect at all. The woman finally left, and Lorna stopped trying.