Give Me Tonight(6)

But he didn't share her amusement. He stared at her solemnly. "All I know is that something's wrong with a girl who locks herself away from life the way you do."

The accusation hurt. "I don't," she protested, more bewildered than angry. "Bernie, what's wrong? Just a minute ago, we were laughing—"

"Are you holding out for marriage?" he asked bluntly. "Is that why you won't make love with me?"

'I don't want to marry anyone. And I don't want to be anyone's . . . you know. I don't feel that way with you. I like you, Bernie, but there has to be more. That doesn't mean I'm locking myself away from life."

"It does." His faced reflected his frustration. "The only people you care about in the world are your aunt and yourself, and the rest of us can go to hell."

"That's not true!"

"You don't connect with people," Bernie continued relentlessly. "You're in your own private world, and the only one you let in is Leah. But when she's gone, there won't be anyone for you. You've cut us all out. You won't give and you won't take."

"Stop it!" Suddenly the things he said were un­bearable. She hated him for telling her, even if he was right. "I don't want to hear any more. And I don't want to see you again. "

"If this is all I'll ever get from you, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Addie backed away from him and fled up the steps, her eyes watering. In the morning, all she said to Leah about the date was that she and Bernie were finished. Leah was sensitive enough to keep from asking ques­tions, seeming to understand what had happened with­out being told.

Over the next few days Addie didn't have time to think about Bernie. She was too busy taking care of Leah. There was no way to deny that time was catch­ing up to Leah very quickly. It would not be held off much longer, not by medicine or prayers, not even by Leah's will to live. Daily the older woman 'was grow­ing weaker and less interested in what was going on around her. Although this end was what Doc Haskin had led her to expect, Addie was moved by fear and helpless frustration to send for him.

The elderly doctor did nothing but sit by Leah's bed and talk to her quietly, his presence temporarily ban­ishing her confusion and dullness of spirit. The sight of her aunt's feeble smile sent Addie's spirits soaring, which made it that much more difficult to bear what Doc Haskin said to her after he had left Leah's room.

"Not much more time, Addie."

"But . . . she's going to hold on a little longer. She's already looking better—"

"She's accepted what's going to happen," he said in his kindly way, his face as brown and wrinkled as a nutshell, creased with sympathy. A shock of silver hair fell over his brow as he looked down at her. "You'd better try to do the same. Help her go easy. Don't fight it. "

"Don't fight it? Don't . . . God in heaven, what are you saying? Don't you have anything that can help her? Some stronger medicine or—"

"I won't give you a lecture, my girl. I can't tell you anything about her you don't already know. All I can say is, it's going to be soon, and you should get ready for it."

Stricken, she turned away from him and tried to sti­fle the choking feeling that had risen in her throat. It was panic she was holding back, a primitive panic that would not be eased with any words of kindness. She felt Doc's frail hand on her shoulder, and heard his words as if he were standing far away from her.

"We've each got our time to live out on this earth, child. Some have more than others, but we all know when it's over. Leah's led the best life she could, and the Lord knows that. There's nothing for her to be afraid of, and nothing for you to do but follow her example. You've got the rest of your time to get through. "

Addie struggled to explain the terrible suspicion lurk­ing in her heart. "Not without her. I'm afraid . . . "

"Afraid of her dying?"

"Y—yes. Oh, not about what'll happen to her . . . I know she's going to a better place, where there'll be no pain or . . . but without her, there's no reason for me to be here."

"Nonsense. Absolute nonsense. You're an impor­tant part of Sunrise. You belong here just as much as everyone else does."

"Yes," she whispered, biting back the burning words: I don't feel that way. I don't belong. She couldn't say it out loud. Ducking her head, she let herself cry, and Doc Haskin left her with a brief pat on the shoulder.

Addie could not fall asleep that night. Perhaps it was the pattering rain and claps of thunder, perhaps the gnawing worries about Leah, but she could barely keep her eyes closed. She jumped up and went to the next room to check on Leah every few minutes. There was an almost imperceptible shifting of her body, a restless twitching of her hands. Addie stared down at the white fingers plucking at the bedspread, and she put her hand over Leah's, hoping to calm it. So cold. Her skin feels cold.

Mechanically she straightened the covers and tucked them more tightly around Leah's shoulders. As she walked back to her room, Addie shivered. She felt strange tonight, light-headed, her heart beating rap­idly, her very soul trembling with an unfamiliar emo­tion. She prayed feverishly, with words childlike in their simplicity. Please bless Leah. Please take her pain away. Help me to be brave. Help me to know what to do.