Wintergreen

“Misha-” Matthew clutched her shoulder, weaving her out of the way of a man in an airport uniform racing down the corridor. She hadn’t even seen him.

There was something wrong with her. Adrenaline was speeding through her veins; her stomach was cramping; she felt the strangest feeling of dread hammering in her temples. She was reminded of her college days, waiting for the test to be passed out in Chemistry 101; it was like the day she had taken Johnny to the emergency room with a bump on his head and they had insisted she stay out in the waiting room. She didn’t even notice the man in the red sports coat eye her up and down suggestively, nor did she see Matthew icily outstare him until the stranger flushed and turned away. A child raced past her; she barely felt the jolt.

Finally, they reached the last turn of the long corridor. A few hundred feet ahead was the small cubbyhole where a stewardess was checking tickets. After this automatic procedure, they would be in Quebec in a few hours, just the two of them at the Chateau Frontenac. Fourteen days of sheer luxury vacation. A honeymoon ahead of time? she had joked to Matthew. He informed her that they needed at least that much time anyway. One week in a cold climate, one week in a hot. To see which they liked best. And if they needed to test out any other temperatures that suited her fancy…

“Wait here, Misha. You don’t have to join that madhouse yet…”

She watched the man she loved more than life detach himself from her and join the rest of the throng of humanity trying to bully the stewardess into letting them go first. Matthew was different. She wasn’t in the least biased. He was simply without question the most handsome man there, but it wasn’t just that. It was that shock of dark hair on his forehead, and those grave dark eyes. His quietness, a total control and assurance that set him apart. The character lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders fit a suit.

A brown-eyed blonde kept looking at him. Lorna stepped ahead just a little, blocking the woman’s view. He was handing the tickets to the stewardess. She said something. He chuckled in return, his heart-stopping mouth slashing in a smile, and the stewardess’s eyes lit up. He had relaxed her in the frazzle of confusion; that was his way. Almost instantly, he was looking up again, searching the crowd for Lorna.

She saw the grave look in his eyes when he didn’t immediately spot her, though she had only moved a few feet. She saw that special light immediately go out of his eyes, and her hands started trembling. Just be very sure that you do nothing to hurt my son. Why couldn’t she get the damn sentence out of her mind?

The crowd started boarding, all in a rush. His eyes captured hers. Captured, held, scolded her for moving, rejoiced that he had found her, and…loved her. He motioned, but she suddenly couldn’t move. For some insane reason, there were tears in her eyes, and a lump so thick in the back of her throat that she couldn’t breathe.

“Misha?” This time it was Matthew who bumped into people without noticing. Concern etched sharp lines around his eyes as he hurried toward her, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch her cheek. “Darling, what’s wrong? We’ve only got another minute to get on-”

“I can’t marry you, Matthew. I’m sorry. I can’t go on that plane. I can’t. I…can’t…” It was all in desperate, choked whispers. Not because of the crowd. She didn’t even see the crowd. She only saw Matthew’s face. The smile set suddenly in steel, shock, bewilderment, the haunting chill of stark pain, that special loving light in his eyes dimmed.

“Misha. If it’s leaving Johnny, you know he fell in love with Mr. Rudowsky. And Freda’s just next door…” She could tell that he knew it wasn’t anything to do with Johnny. She’d never seen a man’s face go totally ashen, and her heart lurched. Splintered. “You don’t mean it, dammit. Misha. I love you. I know damn well you love me.”

“Last call for flight three-oh-three to Toronto and Montreal.”

“I love you, Matthew. But I can’t marry you. I won’t. It’s just…wrong. I should have known-”

Matthew cast a distraught glance at the stewardess, who was motioning them toward the plane. It was past time. The cubbyhole of a lobby had emptied of everyone else. There were only the two of them. And a plane that wouldn’t wait. Matthew grasped her shoulders and tugged. “Dammit. You’re coming on that plane with me. We’ll talk there. This is no time-”

“No,” she said desperately. “Matthew. I mean it. I’m not going.”

“Mr. Whitaker, I’m sorry, but-”

He motioned the pretty stewardess away, his eyes never leaving Lorna’s. Boring into hers. “I’m going to marry you, Misha.”

She shook her head wildly. “Go,” she whispered. “You were planning on this vacation anyway, Matthew. Take it. Get away. You’ll see I’m right.”

She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes any longer. She couldn’t stand herself. When she glimpsed the small sign for the women’s room across the hall, she headed toward it. She heard his shout, but she had already taken off at a run.

The heel of her hand jammed against the door and just that quickly she was through. Inside, away from him. She leaned back against the white-tiled wall, gasping, aching for breath…

Through eyes blurred by tears, she suddenly realized there was a woman gaping at her. She was not alone in the restroom. The other woman was older, with a sparkle of white hair shining with a blue rinse; she was dressed all in powder blue. “You just have to leave a loved one behind, too, honey?”

“I…” Lorna saw that the other woman, too, had tears in her eyes. “Yes.” Go away, please.

The lady talked. How hard it was to let her husband get on the plane, how she hated separations. Lorna didn’t hear. She wrenched herself away from the wall and pretended to get a brush and lipstick out of her purse. Tears kept flowing out of her eyes. Big, fat tears, agonizingly slow. They wouldn’t stop. She pretended she could see herself in the mirror and applied powder over the tears, which didn’t have any effect at all. The woman finally left, and Lorna stopped trying.

She leaned both hands on the sink and closed her eyes, willing herself not to be sick, waiting for the flood of tears to cease, terrified they were never going to. A thousand things flashed through her mind. She could not walk through the airport crying hysterically. She had no way to get home. She had no desire to go home. There was nowhere to go. Her reading glasses were on the way to Quebec. She had no tissues. When she traveled with Johnny, she never forgot tissues. For herself, she never considered that she would have to mop up the Great Salt Lake. Could anyone actually die of heartache? Her whole body was shaking violently…

Don’t hurt him, Mr. Whitaker had charged her.

Nine years flashed in front of her mind in seconds. The guilt that had been so much a part of her life. The fact that she had been wrongly accused of adultery had shaped so much of those years. She had never trusted another man until Matthew. She had chased away any hint of commitment on the part of any man who had dared try. Never again was she going to put herself in a position where she could be tried and judged without a sentence.

She knew all that. She couldn’t imagine how she had successfully lied to herself for so long.

Guilt was the key. Feeling guilty, when she had convinced herself she was innocent. Only Matthew had loved her, and she had fallen in love with him, facing up to the real truth. She had felt guilty over Richard, because she was guilty.

Not of adultery. But in her own heart, of worse. She had pledged to love, honor and cherish Richard for the rest of her life, and she had been very, very sure she was doing the right thing. But less than a year later, she was out of love. Less than a year later, she cared very little for him, could not seem to love, to respect, to cherish him. Richard had never done anything terrible to her, yet she had hated it when he so much as touched her…

And for nine years, she had buried those feelings, refused to admit that she was incapable of lasting love. Getting a man’s love, yes. But holding it, loving for the long term…No one could have made more of a mess of her life than she had nine years ago. And now she loved Matthew just too damned much…

Her eyes were on fire. Mindlessly, she plucked paper towels from the dispenser, soaked them in cold water and held them against her eyes, leaning over the sink. The most horrible sounds were coming from her throat! She was terrified someone was going to walk in. If she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, she would stop crying.

“That’s enough, Misha.”

She jerked up, shocked. Matthew could not conceivably be in the women’s restroom. Yet he took the matted paper towels out of her hands, brushed them one more time against her eyes, then pressed her face to his shoulder