You Made Me Love You Page 15

  His expression didn’t flicker. “Five H2O + two C12H22O11 + one Orange Pekoe.”

  Liza choked on a laugh. “You made that up.”

  With a slight smile, Eli shook his head. “Nope. That’s it. Scout’s honor.”

  “Are you going to be demonstrating this to your class?”

  “I don’t know. How is it?”

  “You haven’t tasted it?”

  “I was being polite by waiting for you.”

  “You were being a coward.”

  “Maybe. As you said, we don’t drink iced tea where I’m from. It’s alien.”

  She took another sip. “It’s pretty good.” Deliberately, she swirled her glass. “Robust, a little fruity, with a full-bodied aroma. Not bad for a first try.”

  “Thanks. I might actually get used to this southern living.” He drank half his glass in one swallow.

  She refused to entertain even a thought of what he could have meant by that. Instead, she kept her voice deliberately light. “Are we having stewed okra and fried chicken for dinner?”

  “No way. Iced tea is one thing. Cholesterol poisoning isn’t my idea of a good time.”

  “Wimp.”

  He kissed her again—a quick one on the lips that mingled with the sugar on her tongue. Liza sighed. Eli winked at her. “Let’s go before you distract me,” he said meaningfully.

  When he pushed his plate aside a half-hour later and fixed her with a narrow stare, Liza felt a tremor run down her spine. His thumb caressed her knuckles. “Okay, time to talk,” he said.

  “I didn’t know you were such a stickler for keeping a schedule.”

  The joke fell flat. Eli ignored it. “We don’t get a lot of time alone. One of the things I’m learning is to take what I can with you. There are some things I want to talk about.”

  “Like when we can make more time for sex.”

  He frowned at her. “I know we’re moving a little fast here, Liza, but it’s not just about sex.”

  “I know that,” she said quietly.

  “Do you?”

  She sighed. “It’s harder for me than it is for you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Were you eighteen and thinking about getting married?”

  Unnerved, as usual, by his perception, she met his gaze. “Yes, I was.”

  “Are you sure this is what you felt?” His fingers tightened.

  “Close enough. I was out of control—dangerously out of control. I couldn’t think clearly when I was with Drew, and I feel the same way with you.”

  “Liza, you aren’t a kid anymore and neither am I. Just because you made some immature decisions—”

  “You don’t understand.” Frustrated, she wiggled her fingers free. “Some people can afford to take enormous emotional risks. They have enough personal resources that if they lose part of themselves in the process, well, it hurts, but it’s not devastating. Some people can’t afford it.” She gave him a close look. “I can’t.”

  “Are you telling me,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper, “that you’re not emotionally involved with me? This is just a physical thing for you?”

  She winced. It sounded so clinical when he said that. “No. I’m not saying that exactly.”

  “It sounds like it.”

  The condemnation she heard in his tone reminded her of the way he’d spoken of his former wife. “Sorry.”

  “I want more, Liza,” he prompted. “I want everything.” Eli slid his chair closer. “Sex with you—it’s fantastic. I’ll give you mat. But it’s not enough. I’m tired of waiting.”

  She pulled her gaze away and turned to stare out the window at the darkening sky. How much, she wondered, was she willing to reveal? “It’s not a very interesting story.”

  “It’s your story,” he prompted. “I’m interested.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she searched for words. “My mother was very young when she got pregnant. She’d had an affair with a married man, and neither of them counted on facing any permanent consequences.”

  “Like children?”

  Liza nodded. “He wanted her to have an abortion, and she refused. Frankly, I’m not sure why. She wasn’t exactly the strong maternal-instinct type.”

  “Her parents were no help, I take it?”

  “Thirty years ago, young southern girls did not have affairs with married men, and, if they did, they never got pregnant. I never met my grandparents—and, according to my mother anyway, that’s how they wanted it.”

  She turned to look at him again. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bearing some deep emotional scars because of this. My mother didn’t mistreat me, she just didn’t offer a lot of security. She was attractive enough to find men who’d put food on our table and clothes on our backs. We weren’t destitute.”

  “Except maybe emotionally?”

  “No.” Liza shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I wasn’t a victim and neither was she. She was only sixteen when I was born, so we sort of grew up together. We were more like sisters and less like mother and daughter. It wasn’t ideal, certainly, but it wasn’t horrible either.”

  He studied her for long seconds. “So how did you end up at Breeland?”

  “My mother read an ad in the paper. She bought me some dance clothes and hitched a ride for us up here from Atlanta. I auditioned, and Anna let me in for the summer program. That led to a scholarship, which meant I could stay here year round. So my mother figured that was better for me than staying with her. She left me that summer and never came back.”

  His expression turned grim. “Lovely.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. “It sounds really shocking, but it wasn’t. She was right about many things. Sure, I missed her, but I was happier here. I never had to worry about where my meals were coming from, or who was going to pay the rent. I didn’t have to hide in the bathroom when she brought men home. I could dance, and I could go to school, and I could pretty much act like a normal kid. Anna took me in for the holidays, and I flourished here.”

  “Didn’t you wonder what happened to her?”

  “My mother? Of course.”

  “Did you ever find out?”

  “No.”

  His gaze narrowed. “When did you stop asking?”

  Liza fought the urge to squirm beneath his close scrutiny. “When I was eighteen.”

  “After your marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “I doubt it.”

  He took her hand again, twining his fingers with hers this time. “Make me understand.”

  Liza resisted the urge to pry her hand free. “Drew was a dancer. I met him when his company came through Atlanta on tour. Breeland sponsored them for a couple of seminars. He paid a lot of attention to me. I was flattered.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Nineteen. We were kids. He talked a lot about making it in New York. He made touring sound glamorous and exciting. I fell for it.”

  “When did reality set in?”

  “The morning after we eloped. The company director called our motel to tell us the tour plans had fallen through. We had no job and no prospects.”

  “Couldn’t you have returned to Breeland?”

  She laughed. “If I’d been able to scrape together the cash for a bus ticket and the courage to admit I’d made a colossal mistake.”

  “What was Drew’s reaction?”

  Liza frowned slightly at the memory. “He was used to it all. He didn’t understand why I felt so panicky. He laughed at me.”

  “You were scared.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Petrified. I spent the first part of my life living like that. I didn’t want to go there again. Drew,” she shrugged, “he had a certain capacity for it. I just couldn’t take it.” She lapsed into silence as the memories overcame her. She wasn’t ready, yet, to give him the full story, and she silently prayed he wouldn’t ask for it.

  Eli stroked h
er fingers for long seconds. “What did you do?” he asked finally.

  “I got a job waiting tables. I begged Drew to look for work, but he insisted it would interfere with his auditions. We moved around a lot—living in rooms and closets we rented from other dancers. My paycheck was the only steady income we had. Drew auditioned a lot, but never got work.” She felt herself entering a verbal mine field, and stopped to concentrate on what to say next. Eli was an exceptionally intelligent man with a naturally inquisitive mind. One clue too many, and he’d hone in on her most vulnerable spot.

  And she couldn’t give him that. She wasn’t ready to trust him that much—not when she was still fighting a sense of bitter resentment that he hadn’t paid the same price for his mistakes that she had. Like him, her own plans had pivoted on the birth of a child once, but that dream had been stripped from her. Increasingly, she’d been forced to admit to herself that she was achingly jealous that he had his daughter to ease the sting of his failed relationship. While she, she had nothing but memories too sorrowful to discuss.

  Eli broke the uneasy silence. “You were too busy working to worry about dancing?” he guessed.

  “I was too busy surviving,” she admitted. “I finally realized one morning that I couldn’t take the terror anymore. It felt like I was six years old again, and wondering if my mother was going to come home that night.” She met his gaze. “I was on the subway on my way to work when I found a hundred-dollar bill wedged between the seats. I didn’t even hesitate. I went straight to the transit authority and bought a bus ticket to Atlanta.”

  “And you came home to Breeland.”

  “Yes. I also decided to stay here. I needed this.” She freed her hand from his grip. “I need the security of living here and teaching here. I love what I do. I like the way we reach these kids. I like knowing that I’m going to have a job for the rest of my life, and that there aren’t any risks involved.”

  “Including emotional risks,” he prompted.

  “Including emotional risks. I made up my mind when I came back to Breeland that I’m the kind of person who doesn’t have a very high reserve of emotional energy. I can’t afford to waste any of it.”

  He leaned back in his chair and regarded her with a shrewd look. “That’s an interesting theory.

  “It’s also true. That’s why I stopped dancing publicly. Each time I dance, I give something of myself away to the audience. I have always been afraid that I didn’t have enough to spare.”

  Eli studied her face with unnerving scrutiny. Finally, he leaned forward and pierced her with a sharp gaze. “So if all that’s true,” he said softly, “why did you go to bed with me?” When she opened her mouth to respond, he held up a hand. “And don’t bother telling me it didn’t mean anything. That’s crap and you know it.”

  Her breath drained from her lungs. He didn’t move. She found a strange kind of courage in his stillness, as if he, at least, wasn’t afraid of the storm she was about to unleash. “I’ve been thinking about this,” she continued, “and I realized that you’re right about some things. When you saw me dance—well, you took something from me. Something I can’t have back. It made me vulnerable.”

  “I know.”

  “But now that you have it,” she went on, “I feel sort of—connected.” She met his gaze. “Strongly connected.”

  Eli surged from his chair. With a quick stride, he rounded the table and pinned her to her chair with his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you,” he muttered a split second before his mouth descended to hers.

  Liza gave up the struggle and let the sensation wash over her. She felt beautiful with him—as free and alive and graceful as she did when she danced alone on stage in a darkened auditorium.

  11

  “Grace.” Two days later, Liza interrupted the girl’s progress as she headed for the door of the dance studio.

  Grace gave her a wary look. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “May I talk to you for a minute?” The other students were filing from the room. Lindsay glanced at Liza. “Do you need me?”

  “No, go on to lunch. I just wanted to go over something with Grace.”

  “Okay,” Lindsay reassured Grace with a slight smile. “I’ll save you a seat.”

  Grace watched Liza carefully. “What’s up, Liza?” she asked, when they were alone.

  Liza sat on one of the low benches at the perimeter of the room and started unlacing her jazz shoes. “Why don’t you sit down? I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. I’ve been noticing how well you’re doing with the tap routines we’ve gone over in class. Every year in the closing recital, we have a few special numbers we do to allow time for the costume changes. I thought you might like to do a tap duet with Lindsay.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “A duet? On stage?”

  “Yes.” She waited. When Grace didn’t respond, Liza prompted, “Would you?”

  “I don’t know.” Grace had begun to look nervous. “I never thought about it before.”

  “The idea of performing without the rest of the group is a little nerve-wracking, I know.”

  “I think I’d be really nervous.”

  “That’s not surprising.” Liza suppressed a smile at the grown-up turn of phrase. “I get scared to death when I perform.”

  “Father said you don’t dance on stage anymore.”

  “I don’t.” Liza wondered what else Eli had told Grace.

  Just before they’d left for the reception on Saturday, Eli had received a cryptic phone call from Martin. As far as Liza could tell, his legal problems were escalating, but he’d been frustratingly withdrawn all night. Distracted and irritable, Eli had apologized to her, then left early. Liza had neither seen nor heard from him on Sunday until late that evening. He’d called to tell her he’d been tied up on the phone with his lawyers, his colleagues, and the other researchers and administrators at his lab for most of the day. He was sorry, he’d said. So sorry. She told herself she should feel relieved.

  Now, she studied his daughter wondering what kind of effect her father’s stress was having on the child’s already fragile sense of security. She drew a deep breath and continued, “He’s right.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  “I was afraid,” Liza admitted.

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. Haven’t you ever been afraid of anything?”

  “Yes.” Barely a whisper. Liza waited. Grace studied her small, clenched hands. Several long seconds of silence ticked by. Finally, Grace raised solemn eyes to hers. “I’m afraid that I might have to live with my grandparents.”

  Liza drew a slight breath. So this fear hadn’t been completely allayed. She’d expected as much. “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you believe your father when he told you he wouldn’t let that happen?”

  Too many seconds passed before Grace responded. “I guess so.”

  “Grace—I know you want to stay with your father, but is there some other reason you feel like this about your grandparents?”

  Grace hesitated. “Will you tell my father if I tell you?”

  She studied the girl’s tense features. “Probably not.”

  “But maybe?”

  “Well, let me explain it to you like this. If you and I were out somewhere and I got hurt, what would you do?”

  “I’d help you.”

  Liza nodded. “Uh huh. Would you go get someone to help?”

  “Sure. If I needed to I would.”

  “Exactly. So if you tell me something, and I think maybe I need your father to help me, then yes, I would tell him. But if I think it’s okay to keep it between you and me, then I won’t. Make sense?”

  Grace hesitated, then nodded. “I guess so.”

  “So do you still want to tell me?”

  Liza watched the far-too-adult struggle on the child’s face as she considered the dilemma. “Yes,” she finally said.

  “I’m glad.” Liza waited.

  Finally Grace relaxed agains
t the bench and began to talk. “I like them okay. They’re pretty nice to me. My grandmother likes to buy me stuff.”

  “Your father says your grandmother spends a lot of time with you.”

  “She does. She did before Mama died, but she does it more now. I think she misses Mama.”

  “Do you like being with your grandmother?”

  Grace frowned. “Not really.” She gave Liza a shrewd look. “She wants me to act more like my mother. Sometimes, I think she wants me to be my mother, if you know what I mean.”

  “What was your mother like, Grace?”

  “Pretty.” Her forehead creased in concentration. “She wore nice clothes. She always looked good.”

  “And your grandmother doesn’t think you do?”

  “Not really.” Grace frowned. “She wants me to look—subdued.”

  The word made Liza groan. She could picture Doris saying that. Today, Grace wore a fuscia leotard, lime green tights and red and green striped leg warmers. Liza had a memory of the sneakers Grace had worn the day she’d met her. Based on Eli’s description of his former in-laws, Liza could well imagine Grace’s grandmother’s reaction to purple hi-top sneakers. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Sure. She says ladies look subdued.”

  “What does she mean by that?”

  “She thinks I should wear more dresses and stuff.”

  “You don’t want to?”

  “I like dresses. Just not the ones she likes.”

  “I see.”

  The child nodded. “But my mother—she and my grandmother were just alike. She always dressed up. She always acted—right.”

  “You loved her very much, didn’t you?” That, she knew, had been hard for Grace. She missed her mother even if Eli didn’t.

  Grace’s eyes welled with tears. “Yes.”

  “I’m sure you miss her.”

  “I do.” Grace drew a shaky breath. “Everyone liked her.”

  “They did?”

  “Yes. She always had lots of friends. Especially men friends.”

  “Did you like her friends?”

  Grace shrugged. “They were all right. I didn’t like Paul very much.”

  “Who was Paul?”

  “The man my mother was going to marry before she—before the accident.”