“Yes. Dave is here. So what?”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like it? Here’s a news flash. I don’t like it, either, but I can’t get him off my stupid couch. The man is in pain. He can’t walk. He can’t sit. He can’t get dressed.”
Pat stepped into the house. “He can’t get dressed? Are you telling me you’ve got a naked man on your couch?”
“He’s not naked. He’s under a blanket, and he’s a total pain in the backside, if you’ll excuse the expression. I had to play nursey to that bovine boor all day yesterday and half of today, and I’ve had it up to my earlobes. This is your fault. You did this. You fix it. I want him out! Do something!”
Pat grinned. “Leave it to me. I’ll have him fixed up in no time.”
“Meggy?” Dave called. “Who is it? It’s not that lunatic doctor, is it?”
“Yup,” Pat said, walking into the living room. “It’s the lunatic doctor. You’re a lucky guy. Not many doctors make house calls these days.”
“I don’t need a doctor.”
“Too bad. I brought my little black bag with me, and I’m prepared to relieve your pain. But hey, if you like pain, that’s okay with me.”
Dave looked interested. “I hate pain.”
Pat lifted a corner of the blanket. “Let me just take a peek at this nasty old wound. Hmmm. Not bad. Looks like it’s healing okay.”
He took a disposable syringe and a small vial from his bag. “This is the magic elixir that’s going to get you on your feet. This stuff will get you on the yellow brick road to home.”
“What is it, an antibiotic?”
“Novocain.”
Fifteen minutes later, Dave stood at the front door with his suitcase in one hand and an inflated rubber doughnut under his arm. “You think it’s safe to drive?”
“Absolutely,” Pat said.
Megan waved as Dave drove away. “How long will that Novocain last?” she asked Pat.
“About an hour.” Pat smiled. “A little pain builds character. Besides, he’s got the doughnut, and the wound didn’t look serious. He’ll be fine.”
If a little pain built character, she should be a wonderful person, Megan thought. Too bad you couldn’t take Novocain for a broken heart. She’d been so busy caring for Dave that she hadn’t thought much about Pat. Seeing him in her living room, though, had brought all the sadness back.
She’d really wanted to marry him. Underneath all the craziness about making babies and pretending to be Mrs. Hunter was a genuine desire to spend the rest of her life with him. If her love hadn’t been so deep and so intense, she could have ambled along, being friends and occasionally lovers. But she couldn’t amble with Pat. There would always be the ache of wanting more, and there would always be the bitter knowledge that more wasn’t going to happen.
Suddenly, she couldn’t bear to look at him. She didn’t want to see him. She didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to hear others talk about him. She’d moved to Williamsburg to escape the memories of Dave, and now she was going to run away from everything associated with Pat. She’d pack up her kiln and go somewhere. Anywhere.
“I have a lot of things to do,” she said, keeping her voice light. “Thank you for taking care of Dave. Good – bye.”
“Good – bye?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Where are you going? When did you decide this?”
“I don’t know where I’m going, and I just decided.” She carried the hot – chocolate mug to the kitchen and rinsed it out. “I think I’ll move to Alexandria. I sell a lot of my pots there, and it would be closer to the Washington galleries.”
She turned on her heel and practically ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Do it, she told herself. Do it before you start blubbering. Do it before you lose your nerve. Do it before you make a complete fool of yourself and beg him to love you. She pulled a suitcase from under the bed and began throwing clothes into it.
Pat stood in the doorway, watching her, thinking she was the most intriguing, beguiling, impossible creature ever made. She looked like a little girl, with her red hair tied up in a fluffy ponytail, but there was nothing little girlish about the voluptuous body beneath tight faded jeans and a clingy yellow sweater. He was on intimate terms with that body, and the remembrance of evenings past tugged at his heart.
Megan reached into her closet for several blouses, then paused and glared at a long white garment bag. She made a sound of disgust and punched the bag.
“What’s in the bag?” Pat asked.
“None of your business,” she said, smashing the blouses into the suitcase.
“It’s a strange shape for a punching bag.”
“If you must know, it’s my wedding gown.”
His brows rose in surprise. “From Dave?”
“From Dave.”
“Why on earth is it hanging in your closet?”
She stopped packing and stared at the gown. “In the beginning, I didn’t know what to do with it. It cost a fortune. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, and I felt foolish pawning it off on the Salvation Army. I was so filled with bitterness that I decided to keep it as a reminder of my own stupidity. I thought as long as I had that gown in my closet I wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Pretty sick, huh?”
Pat smiled. “I don’t know. You’ve developed a decent right hook. You keep that bag around long enough, and we could get you a title bout.”
She stuffed a handful of panties into the suitcase, and he carefully rehung a blouse. She emptied her sock drawer into the bag, and he returned the panties to the dresser.
Megan looked at her empty suitcase in amazement. “What are you doing?”
“I’m helping you unpack.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
He patted her fanny. “You look great in those jeans.”
“Hands off!”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her neck.
“Pat!”
“I can’t help myself. Mmmm, you smell nice.”
She wriggled free and snapped her suitcase shut. “I don’t need all that stuff anyway. I’ll go up for a few days, find a place to live, and then return with a U – haul truck.”
“I don’t want you to go, Meg. I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too, but I have to go.”
He stalked her around the bed. “Bet I could convince you to stay.”
She looked at him warily. There was only one thing that would convince her to stay, and he wasn’t referring to that.
“I need a good – bye kiss,” he said.
“No good – bye kisses.”
He tackled her and flung her, shrieking, onto the bright red patchwork quilt on her bed. He crawled on top of her before she could scramble off, and kissed her quickly.
Megan immediately stopped shrieking and started kissing. They were good – bye kisses from the very bottom of her soul. Good – bye kisses to last a lifetime and store away in her memory. The good – bye kisses of a woman who knew there would be no more lovers in her future.
Pat drew away and touched her cheek with a trembling hand. “You’re really going.”
“Yes,” she whispered, pulling herself to her feet. She took her handbag and carefully walked down the stairs. You can do this, Megan, she told herself. One step at a time. Soon you’ll be out the door and into your car, starting life over again.
“Meg, you can’t go.”
“Why not?”
Why not? Because I love you, he thought, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. “Because… because who’s going to eat the turkey leftovers?”
Her mouth dropped open; then she snapped it shut. She went straight to her car and climbed in behind the wheel.
Pat groaned. Lord, that was the wrong answer. This was no time to make jokes. The woman of his dreams was leaving. “Megan…”