Tess Gerritsen: Never say die

She thought about Lassiter, about that evening in the river cafe, the love song scratching from the record player, the paper lanterns fluttering in the wind. She thought about his body drifting in the waters of the Mekong. And she thought about the dark-eyed woman who'd loved him. "You're right," she said. "No soldier should have to come home alone."

There was another pause. She felt him watching her, waiting.

''You could have called me," she said.

"I wanted to."

"But you never got the chance, right?"

"I had plenty of chances."

"But you didn't bother?" She looked up. All the hurt, all the rage suddenly rose to the surface. "Two weeks with no word from you! And here you have the gall to show up unannounced, walk in my door and drop your damn suitcase in my living-"

The last word never made it to her lips. But he did. She was dragged into a rain-drenched embrace, and everything she'd planned to say, all the hurt and angry words, were swept away by that one kiss. The only sound she could manage was a small murmur of astonishment, and then she was whirled up in a wild maelstrom of desire. She lost all sense of where she ended and he began. She only knew, in that instant, that he had never really left her, that as long as she lived, he'd be part of her. Even as he pulled back to look at her, she was still drunk with the taste of him.

"I did want to call you. But I didn't know what to say…"

"I kept waiting for you to call. All these days…"

"Maybe I was… I don't know. Scared."

"Of what?"

"Of hearing it was over. That you'd come to your senses and decided I wasn't worth the risk. But then, when I got to Bangkok, I stopped at the Oriental Hotel. Had a drink on the terrace for old time's sake. Saw the same sunset, the same boats on the river. But it just didn't feel the same without you." He sighed. "Hell, nothing feels the same without you."

"You never told me. You just dropped out of my life."

"It never seemed like… the right time."

"The right time for what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't."

He shook his head in irritation. "You never make it easy, do you?"

She stepped back and gave him a long, critical look. Then she smiled. "I never intended to."

"Oh, Willy." He threw his arms around her and pulled her tightly against his chest. "I can see you and I are going to have a lot of things to settle."

"Such as?"

"Such as…" He lowered his mouth to hers and whispered, "Such as who gets to sleep on the right side of the bed…"

"Oh," she murmured as their lips brushed. "You will."

"And who gets to name our firstborn… "

She settled warmly into his arms and sighed. "I will."

"And who'll be first to say 'I love you.'"

There was a pause. "That one," she said with a smile, "is open to negotiation."

"No, it's not," he said, tugging her face up to his.

They stared at each other, both longing to hear the words but stubbornly waiting for the other to give in first.

It was a simultaneous surrender.

"I love you," Willy heard him say, just as the same three words tumbled from her lips.

Their laughter was simultaneous, too, bright and joyous and ringing with hope.

The kiss that followed was warm, seeking, but all too brief; it left her aching for more.

"It gets even better with practice," he whispered.

"Saying 'I love you?"'

"No. Kissing."

"Oh," she murmured. She added in a small voice, "Then can we try it again?"

Outside, a horn honked, dragging them both back to reality. Through the window they saw another taxi waiting at the curb.

Reluctantly Willy pulled out of Guy's arms. "Dad?" she called.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Her father emerged from the bedroom, pulling on his raincoat again. He paused and looked at her.

"Uh, why don't you two say goodbye," said Guy, diplomatically turning for the front door. "I'll take your suitcase out to the car.''

Willy and her father were left standing alone in the room. They looked at each other, both knowing that this, like every goodbye, could be the last.

"Are things okay between you and Guy?" Maitland asked.

Willy nodded.

There was another silence. Then her father asked softly, "And between you and me?"

She smiled. "Things are okay there, too." She went to him then, and they held each other. "Yes," she murmured against his chest, "between you and me, things are definitely okay."

A little reluctantly, he turned to leave. In the doorway, he and Guy shook hands.

"Have a good trip back, Maitland."

"I will. Take care of things, will you? And, Guy-thanks a lot."

"For what?"

Maitland glanced back at Willy. It was a look of regret. And redemption. "For giving me back my daughter," he said.

As Wild Bill Maitland walked out the door, Guy walked in. He didn't say a thing. He just took Willy in his arms and hugged her.

As the taxi drove away, she thought, My father has left me. Again.

She looked up at Guy. And what about you?

He answered her unspoken question by taking her face in his hands and kissing her. Then he gave the door a little kick; with a thud of finality, it swung shut.

And she knew that this time, the man would be staying.