“No, only me. But I was the one who treated him and I’m the one who feeds him.”
“Hasn’t he ever given any indication he wants to be free?”
“No …” She stopped, remembering his reaction the other day when some gulls were near.
“I notice his wing is still bandaged. I’d think by now it would be healed.”
Joy straightened her back and took a step in retreat. “What you’re suggesting is that the time has come to set the bird free.” She struggled to take the protest out of her words.
“I know how you feel about him.”
“You couldn’t possibly know. I found him; I was the one who took care of him. He eats right out of my hand now. He’s tame, I tell you. He doesn’t want his freedom; he’s content to stay here.” Her voice became thinner with every word as she argued.
“You’re right,” Sloan reasoned. “The bird is yours; you’re the one who worked with him. I’m just asking that you think about it.”
Joy tried to smile, but the effort resulted in a mere trembling of her mouth. She squared her shoulders. “I think you’re right. L.J. deserves a better life than this.” Abruptly, she turned around, intent on doing it while the strength of her conviction remained strong.
“Where are you going?”
“To set L.J. free.”
“It doesn’t have to be done now.”
“Yes, it does.” Unreasonably, she felt like shouting at him.
Her mouth was set in a firm line as she marched down to the back portion of the yard and opened the gate. She didn’t need to say a word for the gull to come rushing out. Like a tiny robot, he followed her down to the beach.
Tears blurred her eyes as she knelt at his side and unwrapped the gauze bandage from his wing. Carefully, she extended it, checking for any further damage. There wasn’t anything that she could see.
“We’ve become good friends over the last few weeks, haven’t we, Long John?”
He tested his new freedom, then quirked his small head at an inquiring angle when he experienced the first unruffling of his broad wingspan.
Joy bit into the corner of her bottom lip at the happy squawk he gave.
“The time has come for you to go back to your other friends.” Her voice was incredibly weak.
The bird continued to stare back at her.
“Go on,” she urged. “Fly away. Scat.”
He didn’t budge.
“Sloan’s right,” she spoke in a whisper. “He told me it was time to set you free.” Joy choked on a sob. “But it wasn’t you he was talking about. Sloan’s ready, too.
“Long John,” she groaned. “This is hard enough without your making it any more painful.” She rose and brushed the sand from her pants. “You’re free. Go.” She waved her arms, indicating that he should fly away.
Still, he didn’t move.
Joy began to run, and to her horror the bird followed behind, as he’d done so many times in the past.
“No.” She shouted and continued waving her hands in an effort to frighten him away.
He looked at her as if he were laughing.
She picked up a pebble and tossed it at him. It bounced a few inches away.
He let out an angry squawk.
“Go,” she shouted with all her strength. Just when it didn’t look as if anything she did would make any difference, another gull swooped onto the beach.
“Your friends are here,” she told him, in a gentle voice that probably confused him all the more. “Go to them. It’s where you belong.”
He glanced from her to the sky. Testing his wing a second time, he rose and hovered in the air above her. He seemed reluctant to go.
Standing completely still, Joy placed a hand over her mouth and raised the other in a final salute to the bird she had come to love. Burning tears streamed down her cheeks.
Her heart breaking, she stayed on the shore until he was out of sight. She turned, and the beach house loomed before her.
Almost from the beginning, she had found similarities between Sloan and L.J. They were two of a kind. At first, each had been arrogant and proud. She had been the one to tame them, and she must be the one to set them free. The decision was long overdue. Sloan didn’t need her anymore. Within a matter of a few weeks he’d be able to go from the walker to crutches. Why had she waited? It only made the parting more painful.
Her lower lip trembling, Joy returned to the house. Mercifully, Clara wasn’t in the kitchen, and Joy hurried down the hall to her room. The suitcases were under the bed, and she knelt down to pull them out.
The first thing she packed was her flute in the small black carrying case that resembled a doctor’s bag. Without rhyme or order, she began tossing her things inside the open bags.
When the largest one was filled, she dragged it off the bed and out of the house. Somehow she managed to get it into the back of her car.
Sloan was in the hallway outside her bedroom when she returned. Without a word, she scooted past him.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
He laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” she said forcefully, “I’m not.”
“You can’t mean it.” He sounded shocked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she returned flatly. “Look in my room. My bags are out; my clothes are on the bed. To put it plain and simple, I’m leaving.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
Holding her expression tight, Joy released an impatient sigh. “What’s there to understand? My job is finished. You’re up and around. That’s what I came here for. Now it’s time to move on.” She strived to sound as unemotional as possible.
She saw his hands tighten around the metal bar that supported him. “It’s that damn bird, isn’t it?”
“Of course not.”
“I knew the minute you left that something was wrong. Let’s talk about it, at least. Don’t just walk out.”
“Mr. Whittaker.” Clara ambled down the hall. “I haven’t seen Joy this morning.”
“She’s here,” he replied, obviously irritated by the interruption.
“But she didn’t bring you breakfast.”
“She claims she’s leaving,” Sloan announced.
“No.” Clara emphatically shook her head to deny the truth. “Joy wouldn’t leave without saying something. That’s not like her.”
Joy came through the doorway carrying as much as possible under both arms. Only one suitcase remained. “I was coming back to say good-bye to you and Paul.”
“But not me?” His look cut her to the quick.
She didn’t answer.
“Joy.” Frustration coated his voice as he stepped aside to allow her to pass. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have to, don’t you see?”
“No, I don’t,” he returned angrily.
Joy hurried out of the house and threw her things into the car. She paused long enough to take in several deep, calming breaths.
Clara was standing in the front doorway, her face tight with concern. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing.” Joy attempted to brush away the housekeeper’s doubts. “The time has come for me to leave, that’s all. You knew from the beginning I would eventually go.”
“But not like this, so sudden and all.”
“Sometimes it’s better that way. Clara, you’ve been a dear. I’ll never forget you.” Briefly, she hugged the warm, generous woman. “Where’s Paul?”
“He’s gone into town,” Clara replied, her look preoccupied.
“Then give him my best. I can’t wait.”
“Why can’t you?” Clara demanded, in uncharacteristic sharpness.
Joy didn’t answer; instead, she stepped back into the house and headed straight to her room. Sloan was inside, waiting for her. He slammed the door shut after she entered.
Hands clenched, Joy whirled on him. “Why’d you do that?”
“I’ll lock you in here until hell fr
eezes over if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“What’s there to explain? The time has come for me to take on another case, that’s all.”
“But I need you.”
“Nonsense. Everything I do, Paul can do,” she explained tersely.
“That’s not it, and you know it.”
Her chin jutted out in challenge. “I know nothing of the sort.” Her hand closed around the suitcase as she lifted it off the bed.
“Doesn’t last night mean anything to you?”
Joy’s greatest fear was that he would bring up his love. Silently, she prayed God would give her strength. “Of course it does. But those feelings of gratitude are common—” She wasn’t allowed to finish.
“It isn’t gratitude.” He was all but shouting now. “What does it take to reach you?”
She rolled the suitcase across the floor.
“Don’t walk out on me, Joy … we both know that in time you’ll regret it.”
A sad smile briefly touched her mouth; she would come to regret this day? Slowly, she turned to face him. “Good-bye, Sloan. May God grant you a rich and full life.” At the moment, her own felt empty and desolate. Tears clouded her eyes as she turned around, her back to him, one hand on the door.
“Don’t leave me. Not like this.” A wealth of emotion filled Sloan’s plea.
The temptation to turn around and run into his arms was so strong that Joy felt as if she were fighting an invisible force that was pulling her apart.
“Good-bye,” she repeated, her voice trembling and weak.
Something exploded behind her. Joy swung around just in time to see Sloan hurl a vase against the opposite wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces.
“Go ahead, then, go,” he shouted, knocking the bedside lamp aside. “You’re right. I don’t need you. Get out of my life and stay out.” Defiance glared from his dark eyes.
All color drained out of her face as she stood, frozen and immobile.
“What are you waiting for? Do I have to kick you out the door?” He took the walker and slammed it against the dresser. “Like you said, I don’t need you.”
Joy understood all too well. Swallowing, she walked out of the room. Her legs felt as if they could buckle under her, but somehow she managed.
Clara stood in the entryway, wringing her hands. “Sure gonna miss you around here. It won’t seem the same with you gone.”
“Thank you, Clara.” Tears ran freely down her face. “Take care of him for me.” Her voice was breaking, and she paused to take in a breath, then tilted her head toward Sloan’s room so Clara would know what she meant.
“I will, but it’s you he needs.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“But will you?”
The confirming nod was weak. “I think so.”
Without looking back, Joy walked out of the house, climbed in her car, started the engine, and pulled away.
“I won’t do any more private cases,” Joy emphasized, as she spoke into the telephone receiver. She knew that Dr. Phelps was upset with her, but Joy had learned her lesson. Never again.
“You’re sure? The money is good,” Dr. Phelps persisted.
“The money is always good.”
“You did a fabulous job with Whittaker.”
“Thank you.” Joy bit her lip to keep from asking how he was. Three weeks had seemed more like three years.
“I understand you’re working at the Sports Clinic now.”
“Yes, I started a couple of weeks ago.”
“How do you like it?”
Joy couldn’t very well admit it was boring, unchallenging, and that every day away from Sloan she was dying a little more. “It’s regular hours, no hassles, and—”
“Crummy pay,” Dr. Phelps finished for her.
“And that,” she agreed, with a weak laugh.
“I can’t talk you into this case?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Should I try again?”
“You can try, but I doubt if I’ll change my mind.” She knew Dr. Phelps was disappointed in her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and replaced the receiver.
Her hand rested on top of the phone. No less than twenty times after she’d left Sloan, she’d been tempted to call and see how things were going. The only thing that had stopped her was the fear that Sloan would answer. Some nights she had lain awake and allowed her mind to play back the memories. They’d shared some happy times, good times. Her favorite had been when they’d sat on the beach, Sloan at her side, his hands fingering her hair.
So many times they’d sat on the veranda late at night and discussed myriad subjects. Amazingly, their tastes and opinions were often similar.
Joy hadn’t expected to miss his companionship so much, nor his friendship. Sloan had been her friend, a very good friend.
A long sigh escaped her as she tucked her feet under her in the big overstuffed chair. Joy rested her head against the back cushion and closed her eyes. Three weeks, and she’d yet to sleep an entire night through. She felt exhausted and frustrated with herself.
The decision had been the right one. Both times. L.J. was free to join his own kind and live the life he was meant to. Just as Sloan was now. She would no more fit in Sloan’s world than she would in L.J.’s. For a time they would miss her. It would be a natural reaction. But later those feelings would change. Soon, if not already, Sloan would realize she’d been right. What he felt was gratitude, not love. Her only desire was that in the future he would think kindly of her.
Days took on a regular pattern. She rose early and continued with her running, sometimes going as far as five miles.
Her work offered few challenges. Patients were shuffled in and out of the treatment room every thirty minutes, sometimes longer, depending on the nature of the damage. The clinic specialized in treating sports injuries, usually with little more than ice packs, electric muscle stimulation, and a workout schedule with weights. But there was little personal satisfaction.
Usually Joy didn’t eat until late in the evening. Her appetite was nearly nonexistent. Clara’s good cooking had spoiled her, and when it came to fixing herself something to eat, it was easier to open a can or toss something into the microwave.
Friday night, after a long week, Joy left the front door of the apartment open while she sat, drinking from a glass of iced tea, her leg draped over the side of her chair. Her attention flittered over the glossy pages of a women’s magazine.
When the doorbell buzzed, Joy assumed it was Danielle, who sometimes stopped in unexpectedly. Unlooping her legs, she set the tea aside and sauntered to the door.
The welcome died on her lips. Was she hallucinating? Dreaming? Sloan, standing erect without the aid of a walker, stood before her.
Dressed in tan slacks and a blue knit shirt, he looked compelling and handsome. The vigorous masculine features broke into a ready smile.
“Hello, my Joy.” The lazy, warm voice assured her that her mind wasn’t playing cruel tricks.
“Sloan.” His name slipped from her lips as the magazine fell to the floor. She stooped to retrieve it, conscious of her rolled-up cotton pants and bare feet.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Of course,” she muttered, her voice trembling as her fingers fumbled with the lock on the screen door. “You’re using the cane.” The observation wasn’t one of her most brilliant. But she knew how hard he must have worked in the three weeks since she’d last seen him to be using the cane.
“Yes, but only for a few days.” The limp was barely noticeable as he walked into the room.
“You’re doing great.” It was so good to see him that she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him. Her heart was singing a rhapsody.
“Thanks.”
Her hands were clenched self-consciously in front of her. “Would you like something to drink? I made some fresh iced tea earlier. From scratch, the way Clara does.”
“That sounds fi
ne.”
Joy felt like skipping into the kitchen. Her mind whirled at the virile sight of him. He looked magnificent. Oh heavens, why hadn’t she washed her hair tonight? She was a mess.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, and motioned toward the chair she’d vacated. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Joy had opened the refrigerator door and taken out the pitcher of tea before she noticed that Sloan had followed her.
“Aren’t you going to admit it’s good to see me?” His gaze shimmered over her.
“It is,” she said, and beamed him a bright smile. “It really is. You look great.”
“So do you.”
The tea made a swishing sound at the bottom of the glass as she poured it over the ice cubes. Her hand shook as she added a lemon slice to the side of the tall glass. When she held it out for him, Sloan’s hand cupped hers.
“I’ve missed you, my Joy.”
“And I’ve missed you.” She forced a light gaiety into her voice.
Sloan set the tea on the counter without releasing her hand. His eyes held her prisoner as he tugged gently on her arm, bringing her closer to his side.
“I want you to come back.”
“Oh Sloan,” she murmured miserably, and dropped her gaze. “You don’t need me; I can’t come back.”
“I love you, Joy. I’ve loved you from the time you held up your head and walked out of the pool, letting me see your scars. Proud, regal, and so beautiful I nearly drowned just watching you.”
“Don’t, Sloan, please.” She injected a plea into his name.
“I can’t change the way I feel. I love you.”
Backed against the kitchen counter, she was grateful for the support it gave her. “Listen to me, please.”
“No,” he said, and sighed heavily. “I listened to you the last time. Now it’s my turn.”
“All right.” Her hesitation was pronounced. She didn’t want this, but there was little choice. Nothing he could say would change her mind.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“I’m sure you don’t—”
“It isn’t gratitude,” he interrupted her, his voice heavy with building frustration. “We’re a team; we have been almost from the day you arrived. We were even injured in the same kind of accident. I could have fallen off a cliff skiing or broken my back a hundred different ways. But I didn’t. We like the same things, share the same ideals. I am thankful for what you did, I can’t deny that, but it’s so much more.”