Deliver the Moon Read online

  He grinned. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I need another reel for the film. The one you gave me is cracked.”

  “There should be extras in the cupboard next to the sink.” She hopped down from her stool. “Here. I’ll show you. I’m drawing a blank on this project right now anyway.”

  “Do you work late often?” he asked as he followed her to the darkroom.

  “Well, yeah.” She gave a rueful laugh.

  “Then I won’t keep you long tonight. You look tired.”

  She ignored that and fished through a couple of cabinets until she found another reel. She didn’t tell him she planned on working very late tonight, to work until she was completely exhausted. Maybe if she was really, really tired, she wouldn’t lie awake in bed all night thinking about him. And when she did go sleep, maybe then he wouldn’t be the star of her erotic dreams.

  “Lou?” Gabe stared hard at her.

  She unclenched her hand around the reel. “Oh. Sorry.” She handed it to him and started out of the room. At the doorway, she turned around. “Um, Gabe? Would you mind if I stayed in here for a bit?”

  He shrugged. “If you want, but I’m just going to be loading the film into the tank. It has to be completely dark, so you won’t see anything.”

  “I know. But it always fascinated me how you managed to get the film from its little case and onto the reel without being about to see. Remember how I could never do it in college?”

  They chuckled together at the memory. She really had been horrible in every aspect of the photography process—especially in the darkroom. Thank God for her, most of the world had gone digital.

  She hopped onto the counter as he flicked off the lights, painting the room velvet black. He jumped up beside her, and the stainless steel vibrated beneath her.

  Although it had been ages since she’d developed a roll of film, she knew exactly what he was doing just by listening. First, he pulled the filmstrip from its little metal canister, then he maneuvered it onto the plastic reel. As she listened to Gabe walk the film into the grooves by alternately twisting each side of the reel, she couldn’t help but remember the night he tried to teach her to load film in college.

  They’d been friends for about six months at that point. She was with him in the art department’s darkroom, late at night as usual, watching as he made some prints. She offered to load his film while he was printing, to save time. When she’d thrown the reel across the room in frustration, he’d joined her in the tiny film closet.

  Opening the door had exposed the roll of film she’d thrown, thus ruining it, but he hadn’t been angry. He’d simply picked up the film from the floor, closed the door again, and joined her on the counter where she sat fuming. “I’m going to show you once and for all how to do this,” he’d told her. “You will get it this time.”

  He’d walked her through the steps, guiding her hands and fingers through the motions.

  Although they’d been in close proximity before, they’d never done anything more than hug, being that they were “just friends.” But this night, for whatever reason, was different. All of a sudden, they were in each other’s arms.

  That was the night he’d become her lover. Her first.

  They certainly weren’t lovers now, but her blood raced through her veins as though they should be. She sat far enough away from him that he wouldn’t be able to accidentally touch her as he worked.

  Louisa knew it was silly, but she yearned even for that kind of contact—a casual brush of his elbow against her arm, the slight nudge of his knee against hers. Their short-lived marriage might not have been wedded bliss throughout, but their passion for each other had always been incredible. Which was probably why she ached for the simplest touch from him, just to experience a bit of that old spark again.

  Out of the darkness came, “Lou?” Gabe’s hands had stopped working. His soft breathing whispered nearby.

  “Hmm?”

  “You remember?”

  He’d read her mind. She slowly let out her breath. “Of course.”

  The silence reached between them, wrapping them in its embrace.

  “It was great between us, wasn’t it?” he said.

  “It was.”

  More silence.

  “Lou?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I wish—” His voice cut off, choked up.

  They were just two words, but they conveyed volumes to Louisa. He wished life were simpler, less painful. He wished they could go back in time before their world was torn apart and they’d become strangers.

  She reached across the black space between them, finding Gabe’s hands in his lap. Placing her hand softly over one of his, she whispered, “I know, Gabriel. Me too.”

  She listened to his ragged breathing. She listened to hers. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen, if anything. The faucet across the room dripped, dripped, dripped into the silence.

  Finally, Gabe turned his hand over in his lap and intertwined their fingers. Louisa held her breath as he lifted her hand. His warm exhalation caressed the tips of her fingers. Without seeing him, she knew his eyes were closed. Without feeling her tears, she knew she was crying. His lips brushed her knuckles, then he gently released her hand.

  He began to walk the reel again. Click. Click. Click.

  Chapter Seven

  Seeing Gabe’s reflection in the computer monitor, Louisa saved her work with a two-key command on the keyboard. “You done?” she asked, swiveling in her chair.

  He nodded. “How about you? Ready to wrap it up?”

  “Not quite yet.” She nodded to the computer behind her. “We’re beta testing a new software program, and it’s easier to concentrate when no one else is around.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Lou, it’s almost eleven. Can’t you do that another night?”

  She could, but she wanted to do it tonight. Anything to stay away from her bed. And traitorous thoughts about him. She shook her head. “I’m in line for a big promotion. To art director.” She held up her crossed fingers. “I figure if I can get a jump on this new program, it might give me brownie points with the bosses.” She moved the mouse over the pad and right clicked. Nothing happened on the monitor like it was supposed to.

  “Art director, huh? Sounds impressive.”

  She giggled. “Well, I think it’s just a fancy way of saying more stress and responsibility. But of course, more money too.”

  She turned back to the screen. Maneuvering the mouse, she clicked the button and screwed up for about the zillionth time. She flicked the screen with her fingers and growled at her computer. “Damn thing hates me.”

  “Can you talk and work at the same time?”

  At her nod, he asked, “With these long hours you’re putting in, do you ever have time to draw and paint? You know, like you used to?”

  Louisa’s hands stilled on the keys a moment. “I spend all day being creative here, the last thing I want to do is be creative at home. I haven’t picked up a pastel or a paintbrush in ages.”

  “That’s too bad, Lou. You had a lot of talent.”

  “I like to think my talent’s not being wasted here.” Her tone was more defensive than she’d expected.

  “You know that’s not what I meant. I just think it’s a shame you’ve let your art slip away from you.”

  She shrugged. “I’ll pick it up again someday, but right now I’m really focused on my job. It takes all the energy and creativity I can muster most days.”

  She returned her attention to her work, effectively putting an end to the conversation. Gabe had touched a nerve. Fine art had been her passion for as long as she could remember. But it was like her parents and the college career counselor said—You can’t make a living with a paintbrush. They were probably right, and she’d made a successful design career out of her talents, but a small part of her still regretted she’d followed her head so many years ago instead of her heart.

  Over her shoulder, she said, “You don’t have to wait fo
r me, Gabriel. I’ll unlock the front door if you’re ready to go.”

  “I’ll wait and walk you down to your car when you’re done.”

  “I, uh, didn’t bring my car today.”

  “Is Evan picking you up?”

  She brushed some imaginary dust from her keyboard. “He’s, uh, out of town. I’ll catch a cab or the bus.”

  “No way, Lou. I’ll drive you home.”

  She realigned the colorful sticky notes around the edge of her monitor. “I do it all the time. You don’t need to go out of your way.”

  “You do this a lot? What does Evan say about it?” His gaze burned into the back of her head.

  “Why would he say anything? I always work late. It’s no big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. It’s not safe.” His chair squeaked as he settled into it. “I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”

  ****

  What the hell was Evan thinking, letting Louisa take public transportation through downtown Seattle this late at night? If Gabe were in that asshole’s shoes, he’d be here every night if necessary to pick her up.

  His rental car pulled into the alley beside Louisa’s place a few minutes before midnight. “I’ll wait here until you’re inside,” Gabe said as she slid out of the car. “Goodnight, Lou.”

  She peered into the car, her hand on the door. “Thanks for the ride.” She smiled and shut the door.

  She walked toward the gate and paused with her hand on the latch. Turning around, she came back toward the car.

  He rolled down the passenger side window. “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Um, would you mind coming inside with me?” Even in the darkness, he saw her blush. “Sometimes I get a little freaked out coming home so late. You know, living alone…”

  He turned off the car and set the emergency brake.

  “Don’t mind the mess,” she warned when they entered her studio.

  He shrugged off her comment, knowing her idea of a mess was a pair of shoes left outside the closet or a mug on the coffee table. But when she flipped on the lights, he saw she wasn’t kidding. Her place wasn’t a mess by most people’s standards, but the daybed was unmade with throw pillows on the floor nearby. On the small table next to the bed, a mug filled halfway with brown liquid sat on top of a stack of magazines. Two used tea bags soaked in dark spots next to the cup.

  “Sorry. I got up late this morning.” She straightened the bed without actually making it and tossed the pillows into haphazard place on top. When she reached for the mug, she asked, “Would you like some tea or anything?”

  He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll let you get to bed.”

  When he turned toward the door, she burst out, “Please stay, Gabriel.”

  She quieted as he swung around. “I mean, I’m going to make myself a cup of herbal tea anyway and since you’re already here, I thought you might…” She cleared her throat. “I get lonely sometimes.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How could you get lonely with your parents next door and Evan…around whenever you need him?”

  She shrugged. “During the day I’m fine. But it’s just me here at night.” She shrugged again.

  Gabe resisted the tug on the corners of his mouth, realizing what she’d just inadvertently told him: that she and Evan didn’t make a habit out of spending the night together. That news pleased him a great deal more than it probably should have.

  Gabe ran the fingers of one hand through his hair and couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “Louisa…I can’t.”

  She blinked. “You can’t?”

  He let out a long sigh. “It was hard enough being alone with you in your office tonight. But being here in your apartment with you…Well, there’s only so much temptation a man can take.”

  She blinked again. “You said I didn’t have anything to worry about with you. That you respect my relationship with Evan.”

  “That’s all true. But think of it this way. I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for four years, but if you put a drink in front of me, I’m going to want it. And I’m going to want it bad. So the best thing for me to do is avoid situations where there’s a drink in front of me.”

  A myriad of emotions flitted across her face as she processed his words. Disappointment and surprise. Then her pupils dilated with desire as his meaning registered.

  God, help him.

  Finally, she nodded. “I guess this is goodnight then?”

  He backed toward the door. “Sweet dreams, Lou.”

  ****

  Sarah set the pan of steaming lasagna—her new husband’s favorite—on the table. “Arty,” she called. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Her husband materialized from wherever he’d been—she didn’t even bother keeping tabs on him any longer. He was never around. She noticed just the slightest hint of appreciation in his eyes as he took in the meal spread out before him.

  She knew she had to tell him. This secret was killing her. She’d wanted to tell him this morning when he got home from the night shift at the hospital, but he’d looked so exhausted. She’d wanted to tell him when he woke up a few hours later, but then he’d left the house.

  Sighing, she pulled out her chair and sat across from him. She bowed her head as Arty said grace.

  When he was done, she opened her mouth to say “Amen,” but instead blurted, “I can’t have children.”

  Arty leaned toward her. “What?”

  “I wanted to tell you, but didn’t know how. I mean, I know how much you want kids and telling a guy that he’ll never be a daddy just isn’t as easy as it sounds and—” She burst into tears.

  Arty jumped up from his chair and circled the table, kneeling at her side. “How do you know this? I mean, I assume you’ve heard this from your doctor?” At Sarah’s nod, he said, “Tell me what she said.”

  Sarah blew her nose into the napkin, and poured out the whole story, everything she could remember from her doctor visits. “She said I have about a two percent chance of ever conceiving.” Her voice wobbled. “I’m so sorry, Arty. I know how much you want to be a daddy.”

  Arty gathered her into her arms and let her cry into his shoulder until she was cried out. It felt so good to be in his embrace again. Maybe this would all work out after all.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he said gently, tilting her chin up to peer into his eyes. She’d left a giant tear stain on the front of his shirt. “We’ll get through this. We’ll get you in for a second opinion—I know some great fertility experts at the hospital—but even if the news stays the same, we’ll get through this. Okay?”

  She nodded, and he kissed her forehead.

  “Is this why you’ve been acting so different? Why you’ve been so on edge?”

  Sarah pulled away and blew her nose again. “I was devastated by the news. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you about it.”

  He reached out his hand as if to caress her face, then froze. “You’ve been acting weird for a few weeks, since before the wedding.”

  She blinked and sniffed.

  “When did you find out about this, Sarah?”

  She blinked again. “I, um—”

  “You knew about this before we got married, didn’t you? You knew about this and didn’t tell me.” His voice was flat and that scared her more than if he’d yelled at her.

  Sarah didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

  Arty’s eyes closed for a long moment. Then he stood. “Why, Sarah? Why did you keep this from me?”

  She wiped her nose. Fear gripped her chest. “I didn’t know how to tell you. You can’t imagine—”

  He held up his hand. “What I can’t imagine is how you could possibly justify not telling me. These last few miserable weeks could have been avoided if you’d just been honest with me. I could have carried some of this burden with you. I could have grieved with you, but no. You chose to shut me out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “What it comes down to is you didn’t trust
me.”

  “That’s not it at all.”

  He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “What? You thought I wouldn’t want to go through with the wedding if I knew the truth? So just in case, you decided to keep this vital piece of information from me?”

  “I’m sorry, Arty.” She knew she should say more, but there was nothing more to say. Everything he said was the truth.

  “Marriage is all about trust. If we don’t have that, then…” He blew out a long breath. “In our vows, we promised to love and honor each other.”

  Fresh tears cascaded down her face. “Arty.”

  He shook his head. “This doesn’t feel very honorable to me.” He stalked across the room and grabbed his keys from the counter.

  Panic clawed at her heart. “Where are you going?”

  The slamming door cut off his angry response.

  ****

  “She’s still not in, sir. Shall I take your number and have her return your call?”

  Gabe sighed and gave the receptionist at Louisa’s firm his cell phone number then hung up. He couldn’t reach her at work or at home. She was either avoiding him…or she was with Evan. Both scenarios sucked.

  With a ragged outtake of breath, Gabe grabbed his camera bag and sat down at the small table near the windows. He pulled tissues, lens-cleaning fluid, and a small camelhair brush from a pocket in the bag.

  The phone rang, and he grabbed it before the first ring ended. He glanced toward the bed, hoping the noise hadn’t awakened his visitor. Seeing no movement whatsoever, he said into the receiver, “Hello?”

  “Hi. It’s Louisa. I just got your message.”

  “Where were you?” He didn’t care that the answer really was none of his business.

  “Sarah and Arty have separated. She called me at about two in the morning bawling her eyes out. I spent the rest of the night at her house, trying to console her. She’s really worried about Arty. He was so upset when he left, and she has no idea where—”

  “He’s here, Lou. He’s okay.” He glanced at the second bed in the room.

  “Arty’s there? At your hotel?” Her relief emanated through the receiver.