“Cathy, I’ve got something to tell you.”
“I was wondering when you were going to get around to it. I could tell you have something on your mind.”
She sat down across the table from Jade. Graham was coloring in a large book, his tongue securely anchored in one corner of his lips.
“I don’t know how else to tell you, except to come right out and say it.” Jade took a deep breath. “I’ve accepted a job with a clothing manufacturing firm in Charlotte.”
“North Carolina?”
“Yes. I had hoped to find something closer to Morgantown, but, as you know, the college is the only industry here. This is a good job with a respectable starting salary. I’ll be working directly with the vice president in charge of purchasing.” She looked at Cathy with a silent appeal for understanding. “Even though it means that Graham and I have to move, it’s too good an opportunity for me to pass up.”
Jade was prepared to catch her, should Cathy collapse in tearful distress. Instead, the older woman’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I love the idea of a change. When do we leave?”
Chapter Fifteen
Tallahassee, Florida, 1983
Nearly everyone on the transatlantic flight had fallen asleep midway through the inane movie. Dillon couldn’t sleep. The coach seat hadn’t been designed for a man his size. The best he could do was rest his head against the back of the seat and close his eyes.
Hearing Debra stir, he turned to check on her. She adjusted the blanket over their sleeping son, then looked up at Dillon and smiled. “He’s a good traveler,” she whispered. “No one would guess that this is his first flight.”
Six-month-old Charlie was lying on his back in a padded carrier. When he snuffled in his sleep, his adoring parents gazed at each other again and smiled. “Try to get some sleep,” Dillon said softly. He reached across the seat that separated them to stroke her hair. “Your family won’t give us a minute’s peace once we get to Atlanta.”
“Are you kidding? They’ll be so dazzled by Charlie, we’ll be completely ignored.” She blew him a kiss, then nestled more comfortably beneath the airline blanket and closed her eyes.
Dillon continued to watch her, his heart expanding with emotion when he recalled how close he had come to losing her a year and a half earlier. For months following the illness that had resulted in the loss of their child, Debra had been severely depressed. Her parents came to France and helped nurse her through her physical ordeal. The Newberrys stayed as long as they could, then entrusted her to Dillon, who felt ill-equipped to deal with her despondency.
She had no interest in resuming her previous activities, including the cooking class. She no longer kept the apartment tidy. When Dillon returned home from work in the evenings, he did the housework. Laundry piled up until he found time for it. Debra slept the days away. That seemed to be the only way she could deal with her grief.
Dillon grieved for their lost child by pushing himself to the limit at work. Physical exertion was his panacea. Exhaustion provided a temporary haven of forgetfulness. Debra had found no such relief from her misery. She even refused to discuss the issue with Dillon whenever he broached the subject, believing that talking about it might be cathartic. He consulted with her obstetrician and was advised to give her time.
“Madame Burke has suffered severe emotional distress. You must have patience with her.”
Dillon was the epitome of patience with Debra. What he lacked was patience with the platitudes of so-called professionals. When weeks passed and he saw no improvement, he considered sending her home for a while. He thought that perhaps being with her large family might boost her spirits and restore her optimism.
However, he never could bring himself even to suggest it. It bothered him to see her staring listlessly into space, but it would have been worse not to see her at all. Having no other choice, he exercised the patience that the doctor recommended.
During that time, sex was Debra’s only obsession. As soon as her body had healed, she urged him to make love with her, although the frantic coupling they engaged in wasn’t what Dillon would call making love. The act wasn’t prompted by passion or desire but desperation. Pleasure was neither’s goal. He wanted to pierce through her self-imposed isolation. She wanted to get pregnant again as quickly as possible.
No time was given to foreplay. Every night they sweatily clutched each other, rocking their bed in a frenzy of mating. Afterward, Dillon felt empty
and joyless, but he continued doing it because those few minutes were the only ones throughout the day when Debra showed signs of life.
At times when Dillon wanted to pull out his hair in frustration, he could comfort himself by saying, “At least I don’t have Haskell Scanlan to contend with.” Forrest G. Pilot had countermanded Dillon’s dismissal of the accountant but had reassigned him to a position in the States. That was satisfactory to Dillon. He didn’t care what Scanlan was doing or where he was, so long as he was out of his life. Scanlan’s replacement was a much more amenable Frenchman who spoke flawless English.
Debra underwent a 180-degree reversal the day she confirmed that she was pregnant. When Dillon arrived home, she flew into his arms the moment he cleared the door. Such exuberance was so unexpected that he toppled over backward. She landed on top of him, laughing as she had before the disastrous trip to Zermatt.
“I’m pregnant, Dillon. I’m pregnant.”
Before he had time to recover from his surprise, she was tearing open his shirt and ravenously kissing his chest and throat. They made love on the floor, and it was as before—with fervor tempered by love and caring.
“Jesus, it’s good to have you back,” he whispered fiercely as he held her hips between his hands and thrust himself into her.
As though an opaque curtain had been lifted, their life was sunny again. Life was good, but Dillon’s nemesis—his pessimism—plagued him during Debra’s pregnancy. What if tragedy struck again? Debra might suffer another bout of depression that neither would have the stamina to withstand. As she approached her second trimester, the period during which she had lost the first baby, Dillon’s anxiety escalated to a frantic pitch. One evening he abruptly announced, “I’m sending you home to have the baby, and I don’t want any arguments.”
“I am home.”
“You know what I mean. To Georgia. To your mama. She’ll see that you take it easy like you’re supposed to. Anyway, I want our baby to be born on American soil.”