"Can he give you what I've just given you?" "Please, Bart. He needs me. You don't know what it's like to be needed."
"No, I don't know. Only the weak depend on others for sustenance."
"You've never been in love, Bart," she answered hoarsely, "so you can't understand. You take me, use me, tell me I'm wonderful, but you don't love me, or truly need me. Someone else would serve your purpose just as well. It feels good to be needed, to know someone wants you more than he wants anyone else."
"Leave, then," he said, his happy tone turning quickly icy as he stayed hidden from my sight. "Of course I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I don't know if what I feel for you is love or just desire. Even pregnant, you're very beautiful, and if your body does give me pleasure now, it might not tomorrow."
I could tell from her profile that she was hurt. She cried out pitifully, "Then why do you want me to come every day, every night? Why do your eyes follow wherever I go? You do need me, Bart! You do love me! You're just ashamed to admit it. Please *on't talk so cruelly to me. It hurts. You seduced me when I was weak and afraid, and Jory was still in the hospital. You took me when I needed him, and told me my need was you! You knew I was terrified Jory might die . . . and I needed someone."
"And that's all I am?" he roared. "A need? I thought you loved me, really loved me!"
"I do, I do!"
"No, you don't! How can you love me and still talk of him? So go to him. See what he can give you now!"
She left, her frail garment fluttering behind her, reminding me of a ghost frantically fleeing to try and find life.
The door slammed behind her.
Stiffly I rose from my chair, feeling my knee throbbing with pain, like it always ached when it rained. I limped a little as I neared the closed door of Bart's bedroom. I didn't even hesitate as I threw it open. Before he could protest I'd reached inside to throw the switch and bring his cozy, firelit room into electric brightness.
Immediately he bolted up in the middle of his king-sized bed. "Mother! What the hell are you doing in my bedroom? Get out, out!"
I strode forward, covering the large space between the door and the bed in a second.
"What the hell are you doing sleeping with your brother's wife? Your injured brother's wife?"
"Get out of here!" he bellowed, taking care to keep his privates well covered, while the mat of dark hair on his chest seemed to bristle with indignity. "How dare you spy on me?"
"Don't you yell at me, Bart Foxworth! I'm your mother, and you are not thirty-five years old yet, so you can't order me out of this house. I'll go when I'm ready, and that time hasn't arrived. You owe me so much, Bart, so much."
"I owe you, Mother?" he asked sarcastically, bitterly. "Pray tell me why I owe you anything. Should I thank you for my father, whom you helped to kill? Should I say thank you for all those miserable days when I was young and neglected, and unsure of myself? Should I thank you now for putting me on such unstable ground that I don't feel I'm a normal man, capable of inspiring love?"
His voice broke as his head bowed. "Don't stand there and accuse me with those cursed Foxworth blue eyes. You don't have to do one damned thing to make me feel guilty. I was born feeling that way. I took Melodie when she was crying and needing someone to hold her and give her confidence and love. And I found for the first time the kind of love I've been hearing and reading about all my life, from the noble type of woman who's only had one man. Do you realize how rare they are? Melodie is the first woman who has made me feel truly human. With her I can relax, put down my guard, and she doesn't try to wound me. She loves me, Mother. I don't think I've ever been happier."
"How can you say that when I just overheard the words the two of you exchanged?"
He sobbed and fell back to roll on his side away from me, the sheet just barely covering enough. "I'm on the defensive, and so is she. She feels she's betraying Jory by loving me. I feel much the same way. Sometimes we can let go of guilt and shame, and it's wonderful then. When Jory was in the hospital, and you and Chris were gone all the time, she didn't need a great deal of seducing. She fell with only a little reluctance into my arms, glad to have someone who cared enough to understand her feelings. Our fights all grow from the mire of guilt. Without Jory in the way, eagerly she'd run to me, be my wife."
"BART! You can't take Jory's wife from him. He needs her as he has never needed her before! You were wrong to take her when she was weak from desperation and loneliness. Give her up. Stop making love to her. Be loyal to Jory, as he's been loyal to
you. Through everything, Jory has stood behind you-- remember that. "
He flipped over, clutching the black sheet modestly. Something fragile broke behind his eyes and made him seem vulnerable, a pathetic child again. A wounded, small child who didn't like himself. His voice was hoarse when he said, "Yes, I love Melodie. I love her enough to marry her. I love her with every bone, muscle, ounce of my flesh. She's awakened me from a deep sleep. You see, she's the first woman I've loved. I have never been touched or moved by a woman as I've been touched and moved by Melodie. She slipped into my heart and now I can't push her out. She steals into my room wearing her delicate clothes, with her beautiful long and shining hair down, fresh from her bath and smelling sweet, and she just stands there, pleading with her eyes, and I feel my heart begin to beat faster, and when I dream, I dream of her. She's become the most wonderful thing in my life.
"Don't you see why I can't give her up? She's the one who has really awakened this burning desire for love and sex that I didn't even know I had. I thought that sex was a sin, and never did I pull away from a woman without feeling dirty, even dirtier than I thought I left her. When I made love to other women, I was always left feeling guilty, as if two naked bodies meeting in passion was evil--now I know differently. She's made me realize how beautiful loving can be, and now I don't know how to carry on without her. Jory can't be a real lover anymore. Let me be the husband she needs and wants. Help me to build a normal life for her and for myself . . . or else . . . I don't know . . . I just don't know what will happen . . ." His dark eyes turned my way, pleading for my understanding.
Oh, to hear him say all of that, when all his life I'd longed to have his confidence, and now that I had it, what could I do? I loved Bart, as I loved Jory. I stood there wringing my hands, twisting my
conscience and tormenting myself with guilt, for somehow I must have brought this about. I had neglected Bart, favored Jory, Cindy .. .
Now I, and Jory, had to pay the price . . . again.
He spoke, his voice lower and cracked, making him seem even younger and more vulnerable as he lay there, trying to lock his happiness away in a safe place I couldn't reach, and in this way forever shield it from killing exposure.
"Mother, for once in your life, see something from my side. I'm not bad, not wicked, or the beast you . sometimes make me feel I am. I'm only a man who has never felt good about himself. Help me, Mother. Help Melodie have the kind of husband she needs now that Jory can't be a real man anymore."
The rain beat a frantic tattoo on the window glass. It matched the rhythm of my heart. The wind whistled and shrieked around the house, while frenzied bat wings threw themselves against the inside of my skull. I couldn't split Melodie into two equal halves and give to Jory and Bart each their share. I had to stick with what I knew was right. Bart's love for Melodie was wrong. Jory needed her most.