tongue. “I do not exaggerate and I never lie. She’s too thin and I know she’s not sleeping well.”
Amanda froze to attention as she realized they were talking about her. Tilting her chin at an indignant angle, she turned to give Martha a warning glare which was, of course, totally ineffective.
“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Martha stated crossly to the telephone receiver. “If you saw her, you’d see for yourself—” The pause stretched unbearably and Amanda alternated between feeling irritated at being the object of discussion and feeling oddly pleased that Dane would even ask about her. “Why don’t you ask her?” Martha said. “She’s right here.”
Like the last leaf of autumn, Amanda hung suspended, waiting, hoping for the chance to hear his voice once more. She composed her eagerness into a questioning frown and looked helplessly at Martha.
Dane’s answer appeared first as disappointment in Martha’s green eyes and then as cool disapproval in her voice.
“You must do what you think best, I suppose. But you might at least listen to my advice once in a while. It couldn’t do any harm to talk to her. All right, all right, I’ll mind my own business, but you’re making a big mistake.”
Amanda’s eagerness vanished beneath a wave of distressingly unsatisfying rationale. Dane didn’t want to speak to her. He didn’t need to hear her voice. He probably didn’t miss her at all. And that was good, she told herself firmly. She didn’t want him to feel responsible for her or to cling to the past. It was better not to talk with him, of course. He’d realized that right away, even if she hadn’t. But she couldn’t remain in the room while he and Martha sparred over her well-being.
Amanda rose and walked sedately toward the door, although she wanted to run from the room. She even managed a half-smile when Martha motioned for her to stop.
With a shake of her head Amanda mouthed a “see you later” and lifted her hand in good-bye. She heard Martha’s gruff, “Now, see what you’ve done? She’s left.”
Amanda pulled the front door closed behind her and stepped into the twilight.
It was soothing, this indigo evening. Quiet and restful and nice. She could bathe in its stillness, absorb the night sounds, and cover the noisy clutter inside her. By the time she reached home she could be as calm and composed as she had tried to convince Martha she was. She could be ready for a deep, tranquil sleep.
Could.
An elusive word with an indefinite meaning. Of course, she could do all those things if only she hadn’t gone to Martha’s for dinner. She could if only she hadn’t let the memories take hold. She could if only she had never met Dane.
Her heart recoiled from the thought. How could she even think such a thing?
Not ever knowing Dane? Never experiencing the sweet ecstasy of seeing his smile and knowing it was only for her? Never knowing the challenge of his mind or the charm of his laughter or the magic of his lovemaking?
No, she didn’t, couldn’t wish they had never met. She couldn’t begrudge herself the experience of loving someone so completely. Their marriage had been good, once, and she knew she would live through it all again if given the opportunity.
Amanda slowed her steps. That wasn’t true either. She would gladly live through the good times, but under no circumstances would she repeat the last few months. She was never going to hurt like that again. Never.
With the force of a hundred regrets the memories returned. But this time Amanda found no comfort, no pleasure in remembering. Bit by bit the uprooting of her life with Dane came into focus. The first time he’d gone on a weekend business trip and had forgotten to call her. The first time he’d spoken affectionately of a friend whose name she didn’t recognize. The first time he’d locked himself in the study and then gone on to bed without even saying goodnight.
Courtesies thoughtlessly neglected, little