Petals on the Pillow (24 page)

“Actually, I’ve been downstairs since a little before seven. I couldn’t quite get up the nerve to come up,” he said sheepishly.

“What got you over the hump?”

“It’s getting cold and I really have to use the bathroom.” Kelly smiled in spite of herself. “I guess you really did develop that sense of humor after all.”

They stood there, embarrassed smiles stretched over the awkward silence.

“Kelly,” Lisa spoke from behind her. “Is there someone at the door?”

Kelly turned quickly, giving Lisa an unobstructed view of the doorway and the man that stood in it. Lisa’s jaw dropped. “Is that...? I mean, did he...? Wow.”

“Lisa Jackson, I’d like you to meet Harrison St. John,” Kelly said.

Harrison extended his hand and Lisa shook it. She looked over at Kelly. “Cool. He showed, huh?”

Kelly smiled slightly. “Sort of. Don’t you have a drawing to finish, Lisa?”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Lisa grinned. “I’ll just mosey down to my room ever so far down the hall where I can’t hear a thing that’s going on out here.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harrison called after her retreating back.

Kelly shook her head. “Come on in, Harrison. I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what really brings you down to this neck of the woods. Are you slumming?”

***

Her sarcasm bit more than he expected. All the carefully
rehearsed words he’d worked out in advance seem to blur and disappear from his mind like ink washing off a piece of paper. He followed Kelly through the apartment’s dining room to the kitchen.

“So what’s up, Harrison?”
Kelly asked as she filled a teakettle at the kitchen sink.

Harrison seated himself awkwardly on one of the wire spin
dle chairs at the little ice cream table that served as Lisa and Kelly’s kitchen table. “I thought we should talk.”

“Hmmmm.”

He wasn’t sure if Kelly’s comment had to do with what he’d said or the fact that she’d managed to coax one of the burners on the old gas stove to light. He cleared his throat.

“What is it you want to talk about?” Kelly slipped up onto the kitchen counter, heels banging gently against the cupboards beneath.

Harrison couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. Her skin seemed even warmer, more glowing than it had before, her eyes more luminous, her full lips even softer. Sitting there like a kid with a sweatshirt two sizes too big flapping around her. He could hardly stay in his seat, his need to hold her was so great. Instead, he blurted out, “I’ve missed you, Kelly. Missed you desperately. I came to see if there was any way I could talk you into coming back to Hawk Manor.”

“Why? Do you need another wall painted?” Kelly slid off the counter and leaned back against it, arms banded across her middle.

Harrison couldn’t stand it another minute. He could see in her eyes that she didn’t feel as nonchalant as she acted. He rose from his chair and in one step was across the kitchen. He grabbed her roughly by the arms. “Aren’t you listening? I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I love you, Kelly. I’ll do anything you ask, just be with me. Please.” His lips claimed hers in a kiss that left little doubt about his emotions. Or hers. It was rough and tender. Sweet and demanding. Hungry, wild and needy. It went on and on until neither one of them could breathe.

Kelly looked up at him, eyes liquid with emotion. “It’s not that simple anymore, Harrison. I’ve more than just me to con
sider.”

“What do you mean?” Harrison drew a ragged breath, uncomprehending. Was there someone else? Already? Had he spent all these sleepless nights torturing himself over a woman who had already replaced him with someone new?

“I mean that I’m pregnant, Harrison. I’m going to have a baby. Your baby.”

The news ran through him a like shock wave, rocking his very core. Amazement and joy collided in his brain. And then guilt. What had she been going through alone? “A baby? Kelly, why didn’t you tell me?”

Her head drooped. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped. I didn’t want you to think that you owed my anything.”

“Owe you? Kelly, I love you.” He sank to his knees, press
ing his cheek against her belly. “Marry me, Kelly.”

“Harrison,” she said softly, her voice hoarse with the tears she forced back. “Don’t you think we should think about this a little bit? Maybe talk about all the options before we make a decision.”

He nearly laughed at the irony of it-—Kelly telling him to stop and think instead of acting on his feelings. “I’m sick of thinking and talking. I want to feel. I want to live. Give me a reason to do all that. Marry me, Kelly.”

She sank to her knees next to him and pressed her lips to his as her answer.

***

Out at Hawk Manor, a breeze slipped in through one of the windows of the newly re-opened eastern wing of the old house. It swirled around the legs of furniture that had recently been dusted and polished, traveled across the clean floors and formed little eddies beneath freshly laundered bed skirts.

The breeze curled around the hallways and through the huge open rotunda to slither crab-like beneath the double doors of the drawing room. There it paused briefly before gathering a burst of strength that blew the French doors to the lawn open. Behind it, it left the slightest scent of an old-fashioned flower, inexplicable to everyone who came through the next morning until they found the three gardenia petals on the mantel over the fireplace, beneath Elizabeth’s portrait.

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From Eileen Rendahl’s Award Winning Novel
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Prologue

There’s a home movie I just love of my two sisters and me with our dad. I’m maybe three or so. I’ve still got that ridiculous pixie cut that my mother was so fond of for little girls. I have on a little checked pinafore with little matching bloomers. Honestly, I look precious although it was precisely my mother’s insistence that I wear this kind of outfit that would clearly mark me as a complete loser by the fourth grade.

Anyway, if I was three, Claudia would have been about five.  Her hair is pulled back in glossy black pigtails so tight that she almost looks Asian. Leah would have been close to seven.  Her hair is in one long reddish-brown braid straight down her back.  The braid is so thick it must have weighed a ton.  It’s nearly as thick as her skinny little arms that stick out of her starched white blouse, the one with the little blue and pink flowers embroidered on the collar.

I must not have been willing to stand in line the way Leah wanted me to that day. I keep wandering in front of her and Claudia and waving to my mother who must have been wielding the camera. Leah keeps grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back in line. At one point, she even shakes a finger at me. I just give her a big hug and then wait until her back is turned and wander back in front of her to wave at Mama. I told you that I was darling.

Much of my perceptions of when and where things happened seem tied inextricably to the length of our hair and hemlines. A particular hair style or a particular blouse can slam me back into a memory like a door banging open in my head. Other people say that it’s the sense of smell that is most evocative. For me, it’s the length of my bangs and the height of my heels.

All three of us are a little obsessed with our hair. At least it’s something we can all agree on.

I actually have a vague memory of the day the movie was taken. Maybe it’s the pixie cut, but more likely those damn bloomers. They had elastic at the legs so tight it threatened to cut off circulation. I’d still have red rings around my thighs the day after I wore them. It was one of those rare sunny warm summer days that nobody thinks Seattle ever has. We were all so happy that my parents had taken out the movie camera even though it wasn’t anyone’s birthday.

In the movie, we’re all hopping around Daddy. He looks so young and strong. His hair is still dark and he still has most of it, too.  He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and khaki pants. The belt has already started its upward creep, but you wouldn’t even notice it if you didn’t know how high it would go in later years. One at a time, he’s picking us up and swinging us through the air.

You can see our mouths moving, but we’re old enough that movies of us at that age didn’t have any sound. I know what we were saying though.

We were chanting over and over again:

Do me! Do me next, Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, do me!

About the Author

Eileen Rendahl was born in Dayton, Ohio. She moved when she was four and only remembers that she was born across the street from Baskin-Robbins. Eileen remembers anything that has to do with ice cream. Or chocolate. Or champagne.

In addition to the Messenger series, Eileen Rendahl is the award-winning author of four Chick Lit novels. Her alter ego, Eileen Carr, writes romantic suspense.

She has had many jobs and lived in many cities and feels unbelievably lucky to be where she is now and doing what she's doing.

To learn more about Eileen, visit her website at www.EileenRendahl.com.