54
Designed Intent
Chapter 12
Friday night
"Do you want lettuce on your sandwich?"
"That would be good. Where did you put that report from BSAS?"
Gleason licked mustard from her finger as she turned and pointed to the short, two-drawer file cabinet that doubled as a table next to the upholstered chair, "It's there, on top of the file cabinet, under that folder."
He looked, moved several things and said, "I can't find it."
"It's right there." She set the sandwiches on the table and crossed to where Malcolm stood. She reached around him, picked up the top folder, and used it to tap on the stapled sheets below it. "Here, right where I said."
Gleason turned and Malcolm took her by the arms and kissed her. His lips were tender on hers. The move shocked her. Malcolm's hands traveled from her arms to her back and pulled her close. His tongue slid against her lips. The sound of a key in the door and it opening stopped whatever was next.
"Sweetheart," Bobby said as he stepped through the doorway. Malcolm stepped away, turned and walked to the sink; no one needed to see his bump in front.
Gleason spun and her hand went to her mouth. "Bobby!" She crossed the small room and reached for him.
Bobby knew immediately what had just happened. He stopped dead, eyes moving from her face to the other man, standing at the sink. Bobby set down his bag and pushed his hands into his coat pockets. He did not say anything.
"Bobby, you're here!" She reached for his face, wanting to kiss him. Bobby stepped back and tilted his head away from her.
"How about if I finish part one and then talk with you about it next week? Will that work?" Malcolm said to Gleason as he retrieved his jacket from where it lay over the back of a chair. She turned and nodded. Malcolm walked toward the door and Bobby stepped aside to let the man pass. He pulled open the door and Malcolm stopped, turned and said to Gleason, "Have a great weekend." He left without ever looking at Bobby.
Bobby shut the door and Gleason stepped to him, "Bobby, what a surprise! Why didn't you –" Bobby cut her off holding up both hands in front of his chest, palms out. He shut his eyes and sidestepped away from her. He still had not said a word.
Gleason watched him begin to pace. "Bobby, we were working," she said softly. "We're writing an article." She watched him prowl, she knew he was angry. "Say something, please."
His mind ran with what had just happened. He was looking at the floor when he walked in, so he had not seen anything. When he looked up, he saw Gleason turn and Malcolm walk toward the sink. He had not seen anything, but the guilt flooding the room told him everything he suspected. Bobby could not draw a deep breath.
Gleason went to him and took his arm. "Bobby, stop. Stop. Bobby, look at me." She pulled on his arm and he stopped. "Dearheart, talk to me. Bobby, we were working. We want to get this article –"
"Don't Gleason. Just . . . just don't. I know what happened. He kissed you, didn't he?" Bobby could barely look at her. He shot her sidelong looks, his face dark with anger.
She took a step back. Oh, God, he saw us, she thought. Gleason crossed her arms in front of her chest, hands clutching her upper arms.
Bobby turned and yelled, "Tell me! Did he kiss you?"
Gleason flinched and ducked away from him, expecting him to strike her. He caught sight of the table and saw the two sandwiches, the two wine glasses. He felt heat, as he never had. He was at the table in one stride and swept his arm across the top – plates, glasses, food flew.
Gleason turned and huddled on the couch. She covered her face with her hands and mewled. She began to shake.
Bobby was out of control. "Have you slept with him? ANSWER ME! Have you slept with him?!"
Gleason jumped up from the couch, grabbed her keys from the table by the door and dashed out, slamming the door behind her. She was nearly to the car when Bobby grabbed her arm from behind and hauled her to a stop. "Goddamn it, stop! Gleason, stop!"
She turned and cowered. "Don't hit me. Please. Don't hit me," she whimpered.
Bobby pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms. "Oh God, Gleason, I would never hit you. Honey, never." He felt her shake.
She pushed away from him and he had to let her go. "Go back to New York!" she hissed. "Go! Get away from me!" She turned and started back to the apartment door.
"Gleason, wait. Gleason!" Oh, Jesus, he thought, what have I done? What have I done? Bobby caught her at the door, his hand on the knob before hers. He opened it, she entered, and he followed shutting the door behind him.
Gleason walked into the bedroom and turned to shut the French doors. Bobby followed her, stopping the doors before they closed. She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, sobbing. He took a step toward her and she shot up, backing away. "Get away from me! Get away!"
He thought he was going to be sick. "Gleason, please. Honey. Gleason," he took a step toward her, reaching for her. She backed into the night table and stepped around it.
"Don't touch me. Get away!"
The sight of her backing along the wall, terrified of him, stopped his heart and his mind. Bobby stopped and he dropped his arms. He did not know what to say. He did not know what to do. He could barely breathe. He raised both arms and stretched them out at his sides.
"Ok, ok. I, I won't touch you," his voice was soft and breathy, "Listen to me. Gleason, listen. Honey, I, I'm sorry." Both hands went to his head. He held his head, looking at the floor. "Gleason, I love you so much. I went crazy thinking that he, that he kissed you. Forgive me. Honey, dear God, forgive me." Bobby looked up at her.
Gleason was in the corner, arms across her chest. She reached up and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Sobs shook her body, and that weight began on her chest. "Why, why are you here?" she hitched.
"I wanted to surprise you. I haven't seen you for three weeks. I miss you. I, I wanted to surprise you," he answered softly. They looked at each other, not moving, not speaking.
"You frightened me," she whispered.
"Oh, God, Gleason, I know, I know. Honey, I am so sorry. I went nuts. I am sorry. I love you and I went crazy."
He took a tentative step toward her. Gleason's left arm was upright on her chest, between her breasts. She didn't move but for the hitched sobs. "Honey, come here. Please." He held out his arms. "Gleason, please."
She was still afraid of him. She had never seen him like that. She honestly thought he would strike her. Clive had beaten her and she could not allow that to happen again. No one would ever hurt her again. She had not thought that Bobby was capable of hurting her; perhaps she had been wrong. She shook her head 'no.'
His arms dropped, his shoulders fell. "Ok. It's ok." Bobby turned and left the bedroom. He stood in the living room for a minute and then removed his jacket, tossing it on the sofa. He crossed to the kitchen and began to pick up the broken glass and sandwich parts.
Gleason remained in the corner. Slowly, her sobs abated. She was so tired. She forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply and the weight on her chest lifted. Finally, she returned to the bed, picked up her green throw and drew it around her. She considered lying down on the bed, but figured Bobby would come and lay beside her – she did not want him near her.
She walked into the living room and sat in the one upholstered chair, pulling up her feet, leaning her head on the high back. The chair faced the window over the sofa; her back was to the kitchen. Gleason listened as Bobby dropped pieces of broken china and crystal into the waste bin from under the sink. She heard him use the hand broom to sweep the rest into the dustpan and tap it into the bin. She heard him finish and then wash his hands.
He came around her chair and sat forward on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, fingers laced. He glanced at her and she studied him, not trusting him yet. Finally, Bobby said softly, "Honey, I'm sorry. Forgive me. Please. Gleason, forgive me."
She looked at him and said nothing. After several minutes, Bobby stood up and said, "Ok. I'm going to stay in a hotel near O'Hare. I'll stand by for the first flight back to New York." He looked at her with such sadness. After everything, after every goddamn thing we have been through, this is what ends it, he thought, you fucking idiot.
"I love you Gleason. You know that. You know that I would never hurt you, ever. I was angry and I lost control. I thought he kissed you. I'm sorry, Honey. I, I just love you so much."
He stood looking at the floor; she sat looking at the window. The silence boomed. Bobby stole glances at Gleason. He wanted to stoop in front of her, make her look at him; make her see his remorse. She sat wanting to go to bed, her chest felt heavy again and she was so, so tired.
With tremendous resignation, Bobby picked up his jacket from the sofa, slipped it on. "I need the phone book. Where is it?"
Gleason did not respond. She loved him. In spite of his temper, she loved him.
"Gleason, where's the phone book? I need to call a cab."
"I don't have one. I didn't get a land line, so I didn't get a phone book."
He crossed back to the sofa and sat. He did not want to ask, but he had to, "Do you want to drive me into the city?"
She looked at him and shook her head no. They stared at each other, then he asked so softly, "Do you want me to stay?" Gleason hesitated a moment and then nodded. Suddenly, Bobby could breathe. He buried a hitch and wiped his face with his hands. He stood and slipped off his jacket once more and crossed to her chair. He reached his hand toward her and Gleason set her feet on the floor; she stood up, hugging her green throw around herself.
Bobby's arms took her; he held her and whispered into her hair, "God, I love you, Gleason. I love you so much. I will love you forever and ever. Don't ever leave me. Promise you won't ever leave me." She leaned back to look at his face, she put a hand on his cheek and kissed him. He returned the kiss, a soft, tender, chaste kiss. They stood and held each other for a long time. Bobby held her tight. He vowed he would never allow that to happen again, no matter what.
