Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, and I make no money from this work of fiction!
No Show?
She had been afraid he wouldn't show. She had tried to hold down her excitement by telling herself that he WOULDN'T come. Now, as she met Murray's sympathetic gaze when he asked if she wished to place her order, she wished fervently she hadn't come. Instead, she forced herself to smile and ordered the chocolate chip pancakes.
When they came, they were delicious, as Robert had said ... but she had no appetite. She listlessly pushed a few pieces around her plate with her fork, trying to make it look as though she had eaten more than she had, then she gave up and moved the plate away, just sitting there, lost in thought. She was beginning to feel rather foolish. She had come, wanting to meet him again, wanting to see his smile, hear his voice. Obviously he had not been as taken with her as she had been with him, because he hadn't bothered to come, hadn't even phoned his regrets. Catherine sighed, more disappointed than she was willing to admit.
Murray hesitated before taking the bill over. When she had come in, Dr. Howard had, for the first time in a year and a half, looked animated and happy. He hated to see the sparkle dulled once more in her beautiful, blue eyes. Inwardly he cursed the 'he friend' who had stood up such a fine woman as this. Even worse than her dejected face was the forced smile that met his return to the table, as she tried to pretend that nothing was wrong. Watching her make her way out the door into the cold again, Murray shook his head. Some men should be taken out and SHOT! There was a lovely woman, inwardly crying out for male companionship, and whoever she had been expecting hadn't even made the effort to call on the cell phone or pager Murray knew the doctor carried everywhere with her.
As he cleared away the plate with the remains of the pancakes, Murray wondered briefly about another regular. It wasn't like Mr. Woodward and his young grandson to miss a Sunday morning pancake breakfast. Perhaps, since it WAS Thanksgiving weekend, his other daughter was home and they were doing something as a family. He hoped so. The Woodwards, like the Howards, were very special people. It had been hard to see Mr. Howard getting thinner and weaker as the cancer took hold despite the surgery and radiation he had undergone. It had been equally hard to see merry Mrs. Woodward, who had always had a smile for Murray, become a mere shadow of her former self, with eyes suspiciously darting in every direction on the lookout for any danger real or, regrettably, mostly imagined. Murray sighed, thankful indeed that his family were all healthy and happy and home with him.
For the next week, Catherine's mood swung back and forth. First she was angry that Robert had stood her up, then she was afraid that perhaps something had happened to him. Had he been in a car accident? Had he had an accident at the construction site? For the first few days, she was unwilling to drive past his house, because she didn't WANT to see that he was carrying on with his life as usual. Then she was hurt that he could have so easily dismissed all they had shared that one special night during the storm. She went over and over and over the night in her mind. Why would he have agreed to meet at Murray's on Sunday, then not shown up? Had she somehow mixed up the days? She made time a couple of weekdays that first week to stop at Murray's for coffee, but she never saw Robert. She bought a Sarah Vaughn Christmas CD, telling herself it was NOT because she knew he liked listening to that artist. She listened to it exclusively in her new practical vehicle. Yes, she had broken down and bought an SUV, now that she was living in the "real world" -- a world where just one night was nothing special to most people.
Finally, after a week of fighting with herself to not phone and talk to him, her pride stiffened and she determined to put the entire episode out of her mind. After all, he knew exactly where she lived, and would not have to look up the address in the phone book the way she had looked up his. If he was at all interested in pursuing a friendship, he could find her. Since he didn't bother contacting her, she was forced to assume he had put her and that night out of his mind.
Early that December, Catherine immersed herself in her work to the exclusion of everything else. No longer did she take time to go to Shelby Manor just to sit and think in her husband's room. She didn't want time to think. It was too painful. She wouldn't even find time to visit with Marina and William, for fear they would ask her about that night, or her personal life, or anything at all. She completely exhausted herself so that at night she could come home late and fall into bed and immediately into an exhausted sleep. Yet most mornings, she jerked awake with Robert's name on her lips, then rolled over and punched her pillow. Why couldn't she forget him?
About two weeks later, Catherine came home from the hospital just as dawn was beginning to break in the east. She was exhausted, but knew she couldn't possibly fall asleep. She was still keyed up from the success of the all-night fight to save a newborn. Changing quickly into comfortable clothes, she set off for a brisk walk along the riverbed.
Robert, three weeks after Mary Beth's death, was still finding sleep elusive. After a night of tossing and turning, he had gotten up just before dawn and driven to the riverside park. Leaving his car in the parking lot, he walked along the river in the direction of Catherine's house. He still felt it much too early after Mary Beth's passing to think of a relationship with another woman, but he had felt so good that Thanksgiving night talking with Catherine. He assumed she had heard about Mary Beth and hadn't been in touch with him, perhaps to help him ease his conscience about the night they had spent together, platonic though it had been. Trying to get up his nerve to call at her house sometime, he stopped before getting too close and turned around. No, he couldn't do it. Not today. Not yet. It was still too soon.
He made his way down to the path alongside the river, one which was not as well used, as icy patches clung to the gravel and the snow had been trampled rather than shovelled off the walk. He moodily kicked a chunk of ice off the pathway, then started out. Walking along as quickly as he could, slipping now and then, Robert paid more attention to where he was putting his feet than to where he was going. Rounding a corner, he ran straight into someone walking the other direction. Both said, "DAMN!"
Robert's hands came out automatically steady them both, and his eyes widened as he looked into Catherine's. "Catherine!"
"Robert!" she looked almost dismayed to see him.
He wondered if she was feeling guilty now for not being in touch after hearing about Mary Beth. Saying nothing about it in an attempt to put her more at ease, but not aware that he was still gripping her upper arms, he said, "How have you been?"
"Oh, fine!" she said in a brittle voice, which said she had been just the opposite. "You?"
"Fine, too," his voice echoed hers in falsity. "We're getting by. It's hard when the centre of the family is no longer in the centre. YOU know."
"Yes," she admitted, looking down at her hands which she was twisting in front of her.
"You should have done up your coat if you're out walking in the cold," he growled, looking at the edges of her jacket flapping in the cold wind. "What if you caught your death of cold?" He froze when he said that, and, realizing he was still holding her, released her instantly. Watching her face change at his words, he felt a sudden urge to warm her up in his arms.
She wrapped her coat around herself tightly, frowning. "You really ARE a half-empty kind of guy, aren't you?" she said at last.
"Whether the cup is half-empty or half-full REALLY depends on whether you're pouring or drinking," Robert couldn't help saying, and his grin was seductive.
With a scornful laugh, Catherine turned away and slipped on the ice. As he had that special night, Robert caught her before she landed and chuckled as he swung her into his arms. "I'll sweep you off your feet, my lady! As I said before, you need picking up, and today I'm volunteering for the pleasure!"
She started to struggle for freedom even as he took a step, then Robert himself slipped. They landed on the ground, Catherine still in his arms on top of him. She looked down at him, prepared to launch a scathing protest, but it died before she said a word.
Before either was really aware of what they were doing, they found themselves kissing frantically. In the cold dawn of that December morning, they clung together in the snow. She was tired of being alone. So was he. They had both suffered deep losses, and were ready to move on with their lives, preferably with each other for company.
Robert spoke huskily, "You've made me come alive, Catherine. You've made me think about things that were buried so deep I never thought I'd experience them again. I want to be with you, talk to you, argue with you."
Catherine tried to take a deep breath, but it hitched, only half-filling her lungs. He pressed his lips to her jaw, cheeks, and eyelids, so gently and completely that he left no part of her face untouched. Her hands clenched on his shoulders as she arched her neck, giving him license to continue his delicious exploration. It was as if every moment of the last two years had been leading to this one early morning encounter. All the sacrificing, all the denial of her desires had been for this meeting with this man.
Then the dim early morning light and the cold called her back as the breeze fanned her face, beginning to clear her mind of the reckless passion flowing through her. This was crazy. Dangerous. Devastating. He had told her about Mary Beth, the woman who had been his life, the woman who no longer was at the centre of the family, but by her illness had been sidelined through no one's fault, least of all her own.
"Oh, God, Robert, what are we doing?" Catherine tore herself out of Robert's embrace and scrambled to her feet, horrified and ashamed. He was MARRIED! Ignoring his shouts for her to return, to listen to him, she hurried away, escaping inside her house where she huddled into a chair and rocked, tears pouring silently down her cheeks.
She fought back the memory of his kisses when she had been rendered helpless by the power of an attraction that she now tried to dismiss as a totally chemical reaction on both their parts. That would not happen again, she told herself firmly. It COULD not happen. She would make sure of it. She was a professional, and she would act like it. She had managed it before, despite the pain she had been in. She was alone, and could deal with her solitude. She just needed a bit of time ...
She knew now that she had erected a barrier between her feelings and others ... not even her closest friends, Marina and William, were aware of the extent of her hurt. Tom had been wonderful to her, and she had failed him again and again. The only two things he had wanted from their marriage had been her whole heart and a child ... and she could not give him either one. Naturally he had never said anything or even hinted at his disappointment, but she knew. She had tried to open up to him, to tell him her most private thoughts, but she had not felt worthy of him. What if she had shown him her inner self, and he had found her wanting? She could not have borne that. Instead, she had painstakingly fashioned a whole persona which she now wore easily and which had fooled everyone ... until Robert. He alone knew she needed picking up. She needed, just ... needed.
Although in the aftermath of that early morning meeting, Catherine was no longer sure she ever wanted to see Robert again, once more she found herself unable to stop thinking about him, dreaming about him, longing for his presence, his touch ...
Robert wasn't much better. He, too, felt very guilty about the snowy interlude in the early hours of the morning, since Mary Beth had only been gone three weeks. He sidestepped Lori's questions and the looks Jaclyn tossed him, concentrating on Michael and wondering if he would ever have the nerve to call Catherine. He STILL hadn't explained about not meeting her at Murray's that Sunday! He wondered if she had gone, and hoped she hadn't. If she had, what would she be thinking of him for never showing up or sending word? And now that he had begun to arouse Catherine's passion along with his own, he found that his desire to be with her again was interrupting his routine.
Would they ever see each other again? Would they ever have a chance to love each other as they were meant to do? Both hoped fervently the answer to those questions would be a resounding yes!