Prescription: Marry Her Immediately (15 page)

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

Kneeling on the narrow bench, Amy straightened herself atop Quent with him still inside her. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful, like a nymph as her bare breasts and narrow waist broke clear of the foam.

Even Quent’s imagination hadn’t prepared him for the splendor of making love with her. She’d brought a lifetime of experience to their marriage, and he relished it.

Above him, Amy began to sway. “This is amazing,” she said.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s do it some more.”

“I don’t know how I survived without it.”

“You never made love in a spa before?” Quent asked.

She shook her head.

“Neither did I.” He groaned, because she’d reached down and taken him in her hands below their joining. When she heightened her movements, rational thought disappeared.

Grasping her hips, Quent plunged upward. Suffused in heat, he thrust into Amy until she gave a shudder of pure pleasure. Volcanic satisfaction erupted through him, again and again, while time froze into an eternal instant of bliss.

Gradually, as they half-floated in the swirling water, rapture faded into languor. Sinking onto the bench beside him, Amy leaned back. “I never realized it could be like that.”

“Really?” Quent was glad
their connection had been as exhilarating for her as it had for him. “Arrogant as I am, I still wasn’t sure I’d live up to your expectations.”

“It hurt a little at first, but Heather warned me…” She stopped at seeing his startled expression.

“What do you mean?” Quent tried to make sense of her words. “Heather warned you about what?”

“You didn’t realize I was a virgin? I thought it was obvious.”

His brain, befogged by champagne and great sex, slowly slotted the pieces into place. The initial resistance. Her wondering aloud how she’d lived without this.

His bride, a virgin? Impossible. Confusing. “What about those stories you told me?” As he sat up, cold air prickled across his torso.

Nervously, Amy traced one finger along the edge of the tile. “When we first got to be friends, you assumed I was experienced because I’m older than you. I was too embarrassed to admit I wasn’t.”

“What about the wrestler who wore your pink sweatshirt? The guy who whisked you off to Tahiti? The men who got down on their knees to propose?”

“Consider them a form of entertainment,” Amy said. “I was trying to turn the whole thing into a joke by making the most outrageous claims I could.”

“Just now, you knew what you were doing. You can’t tell me that was pure instinct.” He waited, expecting her to give him a triumphant grin and admit she was kidding.

“It was. Honest.” She
watched him from beneath her delicate winged eyebrows. “Is it a problem?”

“Not exactly.” Quent didn’t know why he felt so uncomfortable. Men used to want their brides to be innocent, didn’t they? He’d even speculated about it himself. “I wish you’d been straight with me, though.”

“I’m sorry.” Amy ducked her head. “It never occurred to me, when we started being buddies, that we would reach this point. When you proposed, I figured it didn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t.” He wished there was more conviction in his voice.

“I felt as if being a virgin meant that no one wanted me,” Amy said.

“That’s ridiculous.” Where had she come up with that idea? “If the men in Serene Beach weren’t pursuing you in droves, they must all have their heads stuck in the ground.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

They sat for a while longer, neither of them finding anything to say. Finally Quent got up and turned off the jets. After handing Amy a towel, he wrapped one around his waist.

He remembered one morning at her condo, when he’d run to check on Tara while clutching a towel to his midsection. The casual way Amy had poked fun at him, he’d assumed she’d seen plenty of men in this state or worse. What had really been going through her mind?

A lot of his memories didn’t quite click anymore. It was as if he’d married a woman he scarcely knew.

How was that possible? This was Amy, his best friend!

Even after he brushed his teeth and got into the king-size bed, Quent’s brain wouldn’t stop rehashing the matter. If Amy was a virgin, this marriage was a bigger commitment on her part than he’d understood.

He’d believed they
could keep things light. Sure, he knew their relationship would change with time, but only when they were both ready.

What did she expect of him? He didn’t want to have that discussion now. Or anytime soon. It bothered him, though, to see her watching him worriedly. Even when he rolled over and faced the other way, Quent could feel Amy’s discomfort.

He wanted to offer some reassurance, but he didn’t know how. If only they could go back to the way things had been. Fun and games. An easygoing flirtation. Friends who talked readily. Of course, he didn’t want to give up being lovers or living together, just to lose this edgy, restless anxiety, as if he’d drawn Amy closer to a void from which he didn’t know how to protect her.

They were married and there was no going back. Surely things would work themselves out, Quent thought. With luck, by tomorrow they’d be their old selves again.

He certainly hoped so.

A
MY FELT
like an idiot.

She of all people should have known better than to get married without revealing her biggest secret. Especially one she’d been lying to Quent about for months.

As a counselor, she also should have realized that she was bound to get hurt if she married a man who didn’t return her love. Quent had made it plain that, although he was fond of her, they were tying the knot so they could adopt his niece and nephew.

Knowing him so well, she could guess why he was withdrawing now. Discovering her virginity had opened his eyes. No woman would wait this long to make love, then give herself to a man, unless she expected him to make her dreams come true.

Despite her independent
nature, she had old-fashioned dreams, but maybe Quent didn’t. In a sense, Amy had tricked him into becoming her husband when all he wanted was to be a live-in lover and full-time father.

The harm had been done. Now what was she going to do about it?

She nestled deeper into her pillow and stared at Quent’s broad, unwelcoming back. What she had to do, she decided, was to keep her end of the bargain.

They’d made an agreement, even if it wasn’t explicit. Raise the kids, sleep together and not make emotional demands on each other.

Although it was going to hurt like fire, she had to act like her old self. That was the only way to erase Quent’s mistrust.

She had to let go of her dreams, Amy thought, trying to ignore the knot in her stomach. How ironic, that she’d finally gotten everything she wanted, and she felt like bursting into tears.

But she wouldn’t. Not, at least, until after Quent fell asleep.

On Sunday morning, Amy
hoped they might make love again. Quent, however, slept late, which wasn’t surprising, considering the hard schedule he’d been working. After awakening, he was polite but distracted, and she knew better than to press the issue.

On the drive home, she tried briefly to bring up the subject of their relationship. He got such a strained expression that she didn’t pursue the matter.

Soon they reached Serene Beach and were engulfed in the children’s welcome and in making plans for the holiday. Amy did her best to act like a carefree companion, and Quent gradually responded. Although it felt strange, as if she were playing a role, it was gratifying to see how much more talkative and cheerful he became.

On Monday, people at work were too busy to notice how hard Amy had to struggle to act normally. Natalie chattered about plans for the yacht party, and Heather wolfed down her lunch and ran out to finish buying her granddaughter’s presents.

That night, Quent came home with a Christmas tree. He and Amy decorated it with help from Greg, who handed up the ornaments that Amy’s father had sent from his attic. Tara watched and played with a set of wooden animals that had belonged to Quent as a child.

Taking a break from
adorning the branches with tinsel, Amy picked up a hand-carved elephant and marveled at its intricate detail. “What’s his name?”

“Eddie.” Quent fixed the star on the treetop.

“Eddie?”

“Starts with an e for elephant,” he said. “It made sense when I was five.”

She tried to visualize her husband at that age, but couldn’t mentally cram his powerful build into such a tiny package. “How old were you when you decided to become a doctor?”

He adjusted the star and stepped back. “Does that look straight to you?”

“It’s crooked,” Greg said.

“You’re right.” Quent fixed it. To Amy, he said, “I must have been a teenager. I used to enjoy watching medical shows on TV. I wanted to save lives the way those doctors did.” With a wink, he added, “Besides, they seemed to have a lot of fun.”

“Don’t they?” she teased.

“Actually, yes,” he said. “Don’t tell Dr. Fingger or he might assign me more work.” After giving the star one last inspection, he nodded his approval. “Done. Now, is anybody in the mood for hot chocolate and marshmallows?”

They all were.

Later, Amy hoped Quent might loosen up and join her in bed, but, before she got up the nerve to ask, he retired to his accustomed couch in her office, as if nothing had changed between them since their wedding. She told herself not to worry. Now that the honeymoon had ended, they needed to build a new relationship day by day.

On Tuesday after dinner,
Quent went to his old apartment to pack what belongings he hadn’t already taken and to make arrangements to dispose of his meager furnishings. While he was out, Amy baked Christmas cookies, shared them with the children, and put them to bed. Tomorrow night was Christmas Eve, a time for new beginnings.

As she entered the living room, Amy stopped at the sight of the lighted tree. Her attention traveled from the colored bulbs to the glittering ornaments up to the silver star on top. Some gnome figurines she’d bought at the hospital gift shop peered impishly through the branches.

Her mother used to add her own special touches to their Christmas trees. As hard as Amy’s father had tried, he’d never been able to duplicate the feat. Or perhaps the holidays had simply never felt the same after she was gone.

She didn’t understand how a mother could leave like that. It had been especially hard on Amy, having to deal with adolescence on her own. For a long time, she’d attributed her uncertain sense of femininity and her failure to find the right guy to the lack of a mother’s guidance.

Over time, she’d forgiven her mother. Matters weren’t perfect between them, though, even now.

After repeatedly failing to reach Frieda by phone, she’d left a message about the wedding. It troubled her that her mother hadn’t bothered to respond.

Maybe she was ill. There must be some explanation.

Concerned, Amy went into the kitchen and dialed the number in San Francisco. On the third ring, Frieda answered.

“Are you all
right?” Amy said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call back.” Her mother sounded wistful. “I knew it would upset your father if I attended, and he deserves better than that. So I stayed away. Congratulations, honey. I hope you’re happy.”

There was no point in sharing her doubts, so Amy said, “Quent’s a terrific man and, as I said in my message, I adore his niece and nephew.” When her mother remained silent, she added, “We decorated our tree last night. It reminded me of old times.”

“After I left, I always worried about you at Christmas and your birthday,” Frieda said. “I should have been there, I know. But I felt trapped. Not your father’s fault. I just had to leave.”

“Do you still think it was the right decision?”

“Who knows?” Her mother gave a brittle laugh. “Twenty years ago, it was the trendy thing for women my age to leave their family and try to find themselves. At first, it was a tremendously freeing experience. I’d never lived on my own.”

“Yet you got married again,” Amy pointed out.

“And again and again. Maybe I should have stuck it out the first time.” After a pause, her mother said, “Things are going well with Ben. We had some rocky times but that’s in the past. His children and grandchildren are joining us for Christmas dinner this year.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The last time they’d talked, Frieda hadn’t been on speaking terms with her step-children. “You’re not fighting anymore?”

“Not like we used to.”

“What made the difference?”

“I finally accepted that I’m not the center of the known universe and my happiness isn’t the only thing that matters. If I’d realized that sooner, I wouldn’t have let so many people down,” Frieda said. “I don’t know that I can make up for it, but I’m trying.”

“I love you,
Mom.” Amy hadn’t expected to say the words. They just popped out.

“I love you, too.” Had her mother ever told her that before? She couldn’t remember. “More than you know. Can you forgive me for what I did?”

“I already have,” Amy said.

After they rang off, she was glad she’d called. If anything, the conversation had reinforced her determination to stand by Quent and the children, to make sure they always had her support.

Amy never wanted to look back over the years and reproach herself for letting them down. She knew that, by the time she reached her mother’s age, their love and closeness would more than make up for any dreams she sacrificed along the way.

“B
OAT
!” Tara jumped excitedly on the dock. The word was part of her growing vocabulary.

“I wasn’t sure she knew that the boat in her bathtub is the same as a boat in the harbor,” Quent admitted as he shepherded his family toward the yacht. “I’m glad she made the connection.”

The night air invigorated him. He was glad the children had taken naps so they could all enjoy Christmas Eve on the Barr yacht.

“She’s a smart child.” Amy, wearing a sparkly black jacket over her green dress, held tight to the little girl’s hand. Her slim figure and velvety skin made Quent tingle with memories of their lovemaking in the spa. He wanted her again. Maybe tonight. “Like her brother.”

Greg gave a happy skip at the compliment and pointed toward the harbor with a mittened hand. “Look, they’ve got lights all over the ships. How beautiful!”

“It certainly is.” Quent’s heart
swelled with joy at sharing this experience with his wife and children.

Music and voices drifted toward them as they turned onto the private pier. The yacht, named the
Melissa,
was often used for public relations purposes and staff parties, he’d been told, but this was the first time since his arrival last September that he’d been invited on board.

“Who’s Melissa?” he asked Amy. “Patrick’s mother?”

“No, his sister,” she said. “She died at birth. Patrick’s father believed she might have survived if there’d been better medical care, so he devoted the rest of his life to establishing Doctors Circle.”

“That’s a sad story about the baby,” Greg said.

“It has a happy ending,” Amy pointed out. “If it weren’t for Melissa, lots of other babies might not be alive and well today.”

“She must be an angel,” the little boy said.

“I’m sure she is.”

Quent wondered how Amy managed to say exactly the right thing at the right time to the children. She had a talent for relating to people. It felt good being around her, yet he missed the emotional closeness they’d shared the evening of their honeymoon.

Although they talked and joked easily again, something was still missing. He hoped they’d get back to normal soon.

Ahead, Patrick and Natalie waved to them from the deck. “Come on up!” called their host. “Need any help?”

“You can grab these
little guys.” Quent lifted each child in turn, and Patrick caught them seamlessly.

Amy, hindered by her dress, hesitated as she eyed the short gap between pier and deck. Gripping her waist with both hands, Quent eased her across. Through the thin fabric, he felt her body’s vibrancy. Awareness pulsated through him, all the way to his fingertips.

He wished he weren’t on call tonight. With luck, however, they’d still find time to be alone together and perhaps recapture their intimacy.

After Quent leaped on board, Patrick pumped his hand. “Glad you could come.”

“This is an impressive setup.” Quent gestured at the yacht’s sleek lines illuminated by a wealth of white lights. There was even an electrical Christmas tree atop the cabin, blinking red and green.

“The food and drinks are inside,” Natalie told him.

“Including the nonalcoholic variety,” her husband added jovially. “We don’t want anyone tumbling over the railings.”

“I may have to work later, so no eggnog for me,” Quent said.

Amy’s mouth twisted. “I almost forgot about your being on call.” Apparently their physical connection had stirred her, too.

“Isn’t there a rule that nobody’s allowed to give birth at Doctors Circle on Christmas Eve?” He winked. “Don’t they prefer to wait for New Year’s Eve so they can have a crack at the ‘first baby of the year’ prize?”

“I hope so.” Amy ventured a smile. It suited her so well, he resolved to make her smile as often as possible tonight.

As more guests arrived and claimed their hosts’ attention, the young family wandered along the railing. The children exclaimed
over every detail of the boat, and other partygoers kept up a stream of greetings and good wishes on their marriage.

Around the harbor, houses blazed gloriously. From inside the boat drifted Christmas music. Amy, her face bright from the chill air, slipped her hand into Quent’s. It felt warm and welcoming.

This was going to be a night to remember, he thought.

With a stiff breeze blowing off the water, the air was growing chilly, so they went inside. Tantalizing aromas washed over them as they entered the spacious main room. Couches lined the walls and long tables offered a wealth of food. Since the yacht wasn’t sailing tonight, there was no need to worry about rough seas.

Heather called hello, and they both responded in kind. She stood by the buffet table, helping herself to hors d’oeuvres while chatting with the head of the radiology department. There was no sign of her daughter or granddaughter.

“Is she still keeping certain matters private?” Quent was careful not to mention any details because, in this crowd, there might be attentive ears.

“Yes. She’s determined to avoid being the subject of office gossip, and I’m glad she’s succeeding.” Amy scanned the room. “Do you see Mrs. McLanahan? I’d like to wish her Merry Christmas.”

Miriam James, the manager of the Birthing Center’s gift shop, stopped on her way past them. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said. “Can you believe it, Noreen insisted on keeping the gift shop open this evening.”

“She ought to be enjoying the party,” Amy said. “Is she coming later?”

“I told her to
close as early as she can, but she said she intended to stick around in case people want to buy last-minute presents and flowers.” The young woman shook her head. “That woman is a saint. I sure love her.”

“We all do,” Amy said.

Tara wriggled in Quent’s arms. “Hungry,” she said.

“That’s two syllables!” It was only the second or third time he’d heard his niece use such a big word. “An important step in her development.”

“A true breakthrough.” Amy grinned.

“She’s adorable!” Miriam might have said more, but someone was gesturing to her. She excused herself and moved off.

“I’m hungry, too,” Greg said.

“Let’s eat.” At the buffet, Quent supervised his nephew and Amy filled a plate for Tara. He would have liked to sit with the two of them but Greg was too energized to hold still. “If it’s okay with you, we’ll nibble while we circulate.”

“Go ahead,” Amy said. “We’ll be fine.”

He made sure she and Tara were settled before he allowed Greg to pull him away. The little boy was particularly interested in inspecting the other children. In the past, Quent had never paid much attention to youngsters at this kind of event, but now he took pleasure in observing their interaction with their parents and with Greg. The world was a different place since he had kids of his own.

From time to time, he found himself the object of attention from staffers. Nurse Sue Anne, noticing that an overhead wreath was made of mistletoe, planted a kiss on Quent’s cheek, and Hallie, the receptionist from the Well-Baby Clinic, gushed about how cute Greg was without taking her eyes off Quent. Well, he used to enjoy flirting at parties, so how could he blame them?

He’d like to get Amy
under the mistletoe and claim a kiss from his new bride. Quent’s desire for her didn’t abate even when they were on opposite sides of the room.

It annoyed him that men kept looking at her with interest that, thank goodness, she showed no sign of returning. Still, it was a relief when Hallie engaged her in conversation, effectively keeping everyone else at bay.