Part 14 (2/2)
”You want to stop somewhere for a drink?”
”No, I just want to be home. I want my own things around me.”
It was a natural reaction to head for the safety of one's own nest. We said nothing for the rest of the trip. The silence held until I unlocked her door and turned on the living-room light. She was spooked and I obligingly checked all the rooms of her apartment before she took off her jacket and sat down. A brief raid on her liquor cabinet produced a medicinal shot of brandy, which she gratefully accepted.
”You all right?” she asked.
”I was wondering the same about you.”
”I'm just scared and shaky.”
”It'll pa.s.s.”
She nodded absently and went into the kitchen to put her empty shot gla.s.s in the sink. When she came out she didn't settle back on the couch with me again, but wandered around the room touching and straightening things. Blair's words about death following her floated annoyingly through my mind.
She poked at some nonexistent dust on her Philco and rubbed her fingers clean.
”I think I'll get out of this stuff and have a shower. Will you keep me company? Talk to me?”
”Anything you want.”
I watched her take her clothes off, her movements unselfconscious and automatic. That fist gripped my gut again as I thought of the young girl I'd killed.
She'd been the same way.While the water hissed on the other side of the protective curtain we talked of G.o.d knows what, about anything except what had happened tonight. She shut the water off and I handed her a towel.
”I guess there is an advantage to short hair,” she murmured, dabbing at the damp ends the shower spray had caught. She dried off and I helped her slip into her white satin robe. She tied off the belt and put her arms around me, resting her head on my chest. Her skin was warm and smelled pleasantly of soap. This lasted a minute and she broke away to go back to the living room.
She curled up on the couch, tucking her bare feet under the folds of the robe.
”Tell me what's on your mind,” I said.
Her eyes dropped. ”I'm trying not to think. It's what I feel and I feel guilty for feeling it.”
I shoved some magazines to one side on the coffee table and sat on it to face her.
”I know what it's like.”
”I know you do. Were you scared when it happened?”
”What? Tonight?”
”No, back then... when... when they killed you.”
This wasn't what I had expected.
”I'm scared, Jack. I'm scared of dying and I thought if you could tell me about it...”
She'd watched them carry Sandra out and had seen herself in that long basket.
”Tell me what scares you,” I said.
”All of it. I'm afraid it might hurt or take days and days, but mostly that it won't make any difference, that I'll just not be here and no one will notice. I know you would, and Charles, and some of my friends, but the world will go on and I won't be here to see it. I don't want to be left behind. I don't want to leave you.”
”You won't.” But my heart was aching already. With care and caution I could live for centuries, but Bobbi... I s.h.i.+ed away from that agonizing thought.
I moved to the couch and cuddled her into my arms. Maureen and I had faced the same decision, though the circ.u.mstances had been very different. I'd chosen out of love for her, not fear of my own mortality.
As though reading my thoughts, Bobbi said, ”I love you. Jack. I can't bear the thought of leaving you. That's what scares me the most.”
”What did you say?””I love you, I don't ever want to leave you.” She turned to look up at me, her hazel eyes searching mine for a response. ”The only other thing that scared me was telling you that, but after tonight I knew I had to.”
”You were afraid of telling me...”
”It's an important word to me and everything that goes with it is frightening-at least for me.”
That was true; it was frightening and exhilarating and the best and the worst all rolled together, and I'd been afraid to say it, too. We could go to bed and make love, but say nothing about it before, during or afterward. It was ridiculous.
”You don't have to be frightened,” I said, my voice shaking. ”At least you don't have to be frightened to love...” And for the next few minutes everything got gloriously, radiantly incoherent.
Bobbi lay contentedly back in my arms, her breathing normal again, her eyes sleepy. ”Are we awful?” she asked.
”How so?”
To do this after poor Sandra-”
”It's normal. You get close to death and you want to reaffirm life. That's why a lot of babies are born during wars.”
”What we do doesn't make babies.”
”The instincts are still there, though.”
”According to you it doesn't make vampires, either.”
”Not unless we exchanged blood. Your famous book at least got that right.”
”Stop picking on my book.” Okay.”
She was waking up a little, one hand stroking the spot on the vein under her jaw where I'd gone in. ”That's been on my mind, you know.”
”Exchanging?”
”We talked about it before.”
”I remember.” We'd talked about it, but not nearly enough. It was a hard subject for me to open up on.
”You said that's what Gaylen wanted, but you didn't want to give it to her.”
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