Part 20 (1/2)

Alex tossed and turned beneath the covers, punching his pillow to ease his growing anger. He was mad at Sarah, mad at Jennifer and Wendi, and mad at himself. He was even mad at Emma because, if she'd stayed home, she could have been a witness to what really went on. Not that he should have to defend himself. He punched the pillow again.

”Sarah! d.a.m.n it, just call me!”

The phone mocked him with its silence. His fingers itched to dial her number again, but he resisted. He had made a fool out of himself already; he didn't need to compound the error by trying her number again. If she didn't answer, he couldn't leave a message anyway, and if she did pick up the phone...

What could he say? He had said it all with each message he'd left. He'd even written it in the snow, for G.o.d's sake. What more did the woman want?

”What does any woman want?” he asked irately to the empty room. ”I told her I loved her, d.a.m.n it! Shouldn't that be enough?”

Obviously, Sarah didn't think so.

Sunday pa.s.sed in blessed silence. Sarah didn't call or go to see Alex, and she was proud of herself for resisting the temptation. Unplugging the phone had helped.

Work on Monday was a hectic scramble, just as Sarah had expected. Both she and Darren were up to their eyebrows in paperwork and meetings that had been rescheduled because of the snow. The busier she was, the better Sarah felt. Throwing herself into her work left little time for anything else. That her phone kept ringing with important calls meant she couldn't use it to call anyone on personal business.

”Cleopatra wasn't the only queen of denial, honey,” Darren said to her when she had refused even to break for lunch. ”Working yourself to death isn't going to change what happened.”

Sarah gave him a steely glare. ”Please let me handle this my way.”

He had shrugged, clearly hurt by her rough manner. ”Fine. I was only trying to help.”

Nothing would help. Nothing but time, work, and maybe a few more pots of Earl Grey and a whole library of Stephen King. Sarah left work later than usual, but that was all right. She had already called Rivka and told her she wouldn't be at the gallery meeting that night. Rivka, to Sarah's surprise, hadn't complained.

”I understand.” Rivka sounded surprisingly calm, considering the way she'd been carrying on. ”We've got it all under control, Sarai. But promise me you'll come over tomorrow night to talk about our costumes. Promise.”

Sarah had promised, both relieved and surprised her sister had accepted her absence from the meeting. With the gallery opening in a little over a week, her sister was in a state of slow emotional boil. Nothing Rivka could have said would have convinced Sarah to go to that meeting, however. Not if she had to face Alex.

She might be taking the coward's way out, but she just didn't feel ready to see him. When she did confront him, if she ever did, she wanted to be calm. Now the pain was still raw in her heart, and she needed time for her wounds to at least scab over.

She swung by the mall on her way home, picked up some groceries, and visited the bookstore. Though her credit card practically shrieked at the overload, she treated herself to some premium ice cream and a sack of horror paperbacks. Not King, but they'd have to do.

The porch light was on when she got home so there were no shadows to hide the figure sitting on the swing. Sarah pretended not to see him while she unloaded her bags from the car. When she sat the paper sacks down in order to fit her key in the lock, he stepped up.

”Why didn't you come to the meeting tonight?” Alex's voice was just this side of unfriendly.

Sarah finally got the stubborn key to slide into its fittings and concentrated on opening the door. She picked up her purchases and laid them inside. She kicked the doorframe several times to clear the snow from her shoes and prepared to step inside. She hadn't answered him.

”Sarah.” Alex's voice was low and angry now. ”Don't ignore me.”

She stopped halfway through the front door and turned to look at him. ”I need some time.”

”The gallery opening is in less than two weeks.” He got off the porch swing. ”Your sister is counting on you. I can't believe you would let your sister down just to hurt me.”

She sucked in her breath at his audacity. ”Don't be so vain, Alex. I didn't do it to hurt you. You can't hurt someone who doesn't care about you, remember?”

In an instant, he had grabbed her arm before she could slip inside and slam the door. His fingers hurt, even through her bulky coat. Sarah yanked her arm away.

”Sarah, I love you.” He made no second attempt to touch her.

She laughed, the sound harsh and mocking. To her shame, she felt the hot sting of tears against her lashes, but she refused to let them slide down her cheeks. Sarah lifted her chin, willing her lips not to tremble as she spoke. ”So you said.”

”I didn't lie.”

”I don't need you to do me any favors.” Her efforts at keeping the tears at bay were defeated. The shame of him seeing her cry only made her angrier. ”I'm not your charity case, Alex!”

”Don't I even get a chance? Have you written me off, just like that? I don't even get the chance to tell you the truth?”

Sarah gritted her teeth before she spoke. ”I don't need to hear your truth. I know what it is. I've known all along. I just let your pretty face persuade me differently, that's all.”

His face blanched. Her words had struck home. At the sight of his eyes, flickering with hurt, Sarah wanted to call her words back. But she couldn't. That was the problem with words. You couldn't ever take them back.

”I love you, Sarah.” The anger was leached from his voice. ”I won't say it again.”

”Good,” she whispered. ”Because I don't think I could stand to hear you say it, Alex.”

Without looking at him again, for to see his face would only weaken her, Sarah stepped inside the door.

”Why, Sarah?” She thought she heard tears in his voice and pretended she didn't. She didn't want to think she might have made him weep. ”Why?”

”Because men like you don't date women like me. It doesn't happen, Alex. It can't. We have nothing in common. I was stupid to think it might work. Good-bye.”

Her heart ached, but she shut the door behind her and leaned against it when all at once she thought she might fall. She waited for him to knock. He did not. Instead, Sarah heard the sound of his feet crunching through the snow, down the porch steps, and away. Then she could hear nothing at all.

CHAPTER 10.

With only a week left before the gallery opening, and her baby sister in a romantic crisis, Rivka Delaney was showing remarkable restraint. So Sarah thought, anyway, watching Rivka preen in front of the floor-length mirror. She and her sister were trying on their costumes in Rivka and Mickey's bedroom.

Rivka, thus far, had not asked about Alex, for which Sarah was extremely grateful. Though she knew Rivka would listen sympathetically, the pain was still too fierce, too fresh to discuss. Sarah wanted to curl up and lick her wounds in private. It was the way she had always been and Rivka knew it. When Sarah discovered she could laugh about Alex, whether or not the humor she found in the situation was genuine, then she would talk about him with her sister. Not before.

Nor had Rivka made any mention about the food for the party, her problems with the printer, or any of the other innumerable last-minute qualms Sarah knew her sister had to be feeling. Instead, Rivka had tried on a dozen different costumes, all on loan from the costume shop and due back by this afternoon. She had finally decided on going to her party as Marie Antoinette because, as she had so dryly put it, if she was going to lose her head over this opening, she wanted to be dressed appropriately. Mick, she had explained, would be going as the little dog the French queen had been rumored to keep beneath her skirts.

”Gorgeous.” Sarah meant it.

Her sister looked breathtaking, as always. The dress suited her to perfection, capturing Rivka's artistic nature, innate sensuality, and vivacious nature all in one elaborate package. An extremely expensive package, too, Sarah noted, looking at the price list that had come with the costumes Rivka was trying on.

”Not too cutesy?”

Resplendent in hoop skirt, powdered wig, and beauty mark, Rivka was fretting. She pressed her palms to the gown's bust and pushed her already straining bosom to new heights of plumpness. She pranced in front of the mirror, then curtseyed. To someone who didn't know her, Rivka would look the very epitome of vanity. Sarah, however, knew her sister didn't really care how she looked. She never had. Rivka was nervous about the gallery opening, and the new series of paintings she would be revealing. Her moaning and complaining about her costume was just her way of pretending she wasn't afraid of all the other stuff.

”Not as cutesy as Little Bo Peep.” Sarah compared Rivka's elaborate, flattering costume to the one she herself planned on wearing. With its white-frilled pantaloons, blue pinafore, and stuffed sheep, she was going to look about ten years old. It was better than the costume her sister had wanted her to wear, however. No matter how desperate she might be to attract attention, Sarah thought with distaste, she would never, ever go anywhere dressed as Lady G.o.diva.

”Oy, Bo Peep!” Rivka grimaced. ”But if it makes you happy...”

”It does,” Sarah said firmly. ”Besides, I got a great discount because the Miss m.u.f.fet costume I wanted didn't come in on time.”