Kathleen Creighton - One More Knight

“Cutter…” Charly repeated it in a daze. She was once more, in spite of all her efforts, on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to see him,” she whispered, “That’s all-not even to let him know it was me, you know? Just…see him. I told him-my father-I was going to no matter what he said. That’s what upset him so badly. Was it so much to ask? Does he hate me that much?”

“Oh, child,” Dobrina said, her own voice cracking. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes, he does!” Charly knew she sounded like a hurt little girl and was powerless to stop herself. “He’s never forgiven me for what happened. I don’t think he ever will.”

Dobrina slowly rose to her feet, clutching her pocketbook. Charly could see now that she was trembling.

“Look,” she said in a rush, her own voice shaking, “I know it was all my fault-getting pregnant, and…what happened to Colin. I know I shamed him. But what happened to Colin…he was my friend, dammit! I know he was a Stewart, but I lost someone I loved But he’s never forgiven me, even after all these years. I thought-”

Dobrina whirled on her then, suddenly and magnificently angry. “Oh, you stubborn, stubborn child. You’re just as bad as he is! Can’t see the truth, even when it’s right in front of your face.” Charly’s mouth opened, ready with her defense, but the older woman threw out a hand and silenced her with a gesture. “It’s not your havin’ a baby or that poor boy’s death your father can’t forgive you for-it nevah was. Don’t you know that? It’s your leavin ’ he can’t get over. The fact that you left, and you nevah came back. Like to killed him when you did that. I thought it would. If it hadn’t a’ been for the boy…”

Charly rose slowly, shaken to her core. “Why did he do it, Aunt Dobie?” she asked in a breaking child’s voice. “Why did he bring him back? He was so adamant about my giving up my baby. And then, after it’s too late, he goes and does…what he did? I don’t understand.”

Dobrina gazed at her for a long moment, her eyes darkening slowly to the blackness of inexpressible sorrow. “Don’t you see, child? He was hopin’ and prayin’ it wasn’t too late. All he evah wanted was what was best for you. You were his little girl, his only child, and all he could see was how havin’ that baby was goin’ to ruin your future. He thought he was doin’ the best thing. Then, after the boy was born, and you were gone, he saw what he’d done was wrong. He went and got the boy and brought him home, and then he waited…”

Charly could barely bring herself to whisper it. “Waited?”

Tears glistened on Dobrina’s proud, tragic face. “For you, child. He waited, all those years, for you to come home.”

September 3, 1977

Dear Diary,

School starts tomorrow-oh, joy. I can’t believe summer vacation is over already. So much has happened-which of course you know about. I still can’t believe I’m writing to a book like it was a real person. Although I guess I’m sort of getting used to it.

Anyway, I’m not really sorry to be going back to school. It’s going to be such a bitchin’ year-can you believe I’m a junior? Kelly Grace and I are both sorry now that we didn’t try out for cheerleaders last spring when we had the chance-I know we would have made it, you should see some of those cheerleaders!-since we are both dating football players. We’ve become quite the foursome, K.G. and Bobby, Richie and I. Colin says we could probably still make the flag twirlers. No offense, Colin, but being a member of the marching-band auxiliary isn’t quite the same as being a cheerleader, if you know what I mean! Oh, well. I know we are going to have a lot of fun this year anyway.

Thought for the Day: I just hope I’m not coming down with the flu or something. I’ve been feeling kind of sick lately. Wouldn’t that be the pits!

Thunderheads were starting to build in earnest over the mountains by the time Troy got Bubba settled in a nice shady spot with his water dish and a rawhide bone to gnaw on. A breeze had sprung up, which he thought might mean the unsettled weather was about to move on through. He hoped it would cool things off; it was hard enough, having a dog to take care of, without worrying about the heat. He was beginning to regret the impulse that had made him invite Bubba along for company, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time, when he’d thought all he was doing was making a short foray to the mountains of Alabama to bail somebody out of jail. Little had he known.

He left Bubba looking forlorn but resigned and started back up the slope to the hospital. He was feeling a mite put-upon, if the truth were told. And to make matters worse, feeling guilty for that. He hadn’t been raised to keep score when it came to helping people out, but on the other hand, he didn’t much care for being treated like a handy crutch, either, something without either thoughts or feelings that could be easily ignored when it wasn’t needed.

But as soon as he spotted Charly pacing up and down on the walkway in front of the emergency entrance, he felt a familiar hitch in his breathing and a knot of desire forming in his belly. And he thought that actually, having to haul a dog around with him for a few days wasn’t that big an inconvenience.

She’d taken off the suit jacket. The silky black thing she’d been wearing under it-which, if you asked him, looked too much like a slip to be called a blouse-left most of her chest and shoulders and every inch of her arms bare. Except for the dusky place where the seat belt had bruised her, her skin looked flawless. And unfashionably pale, especially in contrast with her hair, which was coming loose from the slicked-back hairdo to slash across her neck and cheekbones like black-ink commas. It surprised him some that he found that so attractive, considering he’d been raised in a sun-belt culture where anybody without a tan was considered to be either too poor to afford one, or sickly. He thought maybe it was Mirabella who’d started him thinking otherwise, with her redhead’s coloring and skin you could almost see through. Funny, he thought, how a person’s tastes and opinions could change almost overnight.

She’d managed to find herself another cigarette. She glared at him as he approached, daring him to say something about the fact that she was smoking. She looked wired and tense, like a caged cat, he thought, with her ears laid back and her tail twitching, just waiting for someone to lash out at.

Not wanting to disappoint her, he folded his arms across his chest and tsk-tsk ed in mild reproach. “How in the world did you manage to find one of those things here? This is a hospital.”

She tipped back her head and blew smoke with an audible hiss, then quipped sardonically, “Ah have had to depend on the kindness of strangers.” And immediately she took another drag, her narrowed eyes a warning.

So he just shook his head and moved up beside her, resisting a strong desire to put a comforting arm around her shoulders. He wanted to touch that silky skin so badly he knew he’d better not. Instead he asked casually, “Had any news?”

She threw down what was left of the cigarette and stepped on it. “Still nothing.”

He suddenly realized that she was trembling. He could feel it, even though they weren’t touching, could almost hear it, like the humming of high-voltage power lines. His jaws clenched. He let out a breath and said softly, “Waiting’s tough.” But the same vibration had begun deep down inside him, as if it were a contagion he’d caught from her.

He wondered how much more of this he was going to be able to take. He was a patient man, but right now he wanted to grab her and shake her, slap her, scream at her, anything to bust loose whatever it was she was insisting on keeping bottled up inside. He’d never seen anybody wound so tight.