accepted you just the way you were. Unlike your mother—"
"You don't have to say it." He sighed roughly, lifting his gaze at last to look intently at her quiet face. "What would have happened if we had gotten married, Kelly? If there'd been no accident."
Her hands rose slightly in a helpless gesture and then fell to her lap. "I don't know. Maybe nothing drastic. I might have grown up slowly, and you might have accepted me. Both of us could have adjusted. Or I might have been like so manywomen who look around in their thirties or forties and realize they have gone from being somebody's daughter to somebody's wife to somebody's mother, and they rebel. But I would have changed. I had to change, Mitch; it was inevitable. The accident and everything that happened after just made the changes come faster and more painfully."
"And now? You said you didn't know what you wanted or needed then. Do you know now?"
Another tough question. "Partly. I know what I don't want. I don't want to live through somebody else. To do what others expect me to do, be what they think I should be. I have to make my own choices, my own decisions. I have to control my own life, at least as much as any of us can."
"Kelly ... I never intentionally tried to make you be something you weren't."
"I know." She looked at him steadily. "But you needed me to be something I wasn't, Mitch, and I felt that even then. I'm not blaming you; none of us can help our needs. And I was more than willing. I needed the security of a dominant partner because I was afraid of being alone, afraid of testing my own strength. What you have to understand is that I don't need that anymore. Or want it. And if your needs haven't changed, you won't find what you're looking for in me."
The click of the tape deck turning itself off was loud in the silence. Then, quietly, Mitch said, "I have changed, Kelly. I went to sleep in my twenties and woke up in my thirties. I lost an eye, my best friend, and the girl I was going to marry. The father I never made peace with has died. The whole world is so changed, not an hour goes by that I don't notice I'm out of step in some way. I'm rebuilding my life almost from scratch. How could I not be different?"
Kelly felt the pressure of hot tears behind her eyes, and her throat was aching. His voice had held steady, the eloquent words not a plea for compassion but a simple statement of what had happened to him. It moved her in ways she hadn't expected, made her feel his losses as keenly as she felt her own. For the first time, she was aware of her guard wavering, as if one or both of them had taken at least a small step to begin crossing the years between them.
She didn't know what would happen when—or if—they met again somewhere in the present. Every step would be tentative and painful, the way carrying them across old hurts and new, unexplored ground. But if they did finally meet, it would be as two adults who had learned to see each other clearly.
Kelly was afraid of the distance yet to be crossed. She was afraid of opening old wounds. But she couldn't deny even to herself the knowledge that the attempt was something she couldn't walk—or run—away from.
Finally, she swallowed the ache in her throat and said, "Neither of us is the person we were ten years ago. And we can't go back. The only way is forward."
Mitch drew a short breath. "I want you to understand that even though I'm not sure of everything I need yet, I do know it isn't what I needed ten years ago. I guess I wanted security just like you did, but in a different way. I'd seen my parents fight a tug-of-war all my life, and it was like being caught up in a storm of bitterness that never died. I suppose that I believed if only one controlled in a relationship, there'd be peace."
"You don't think so now?"
A faint, rueful smile tugged at his lips. "I think control is an illusion we build to protect ourselves, and the larger we try to make that circle, the weaker it gets. We
"You don't have to say it." He sighed roughly, lifting his gaze at last to look intently at her quiet face. "What would have happened if we had gotten married, Kelly? If there'd been no accident."
Her hands rose slightly in a helpless gesture and then fell to her lap. "I don't know. Maybe nothing drastic. I might have grown up slowly, and you might have accepted me. Both of us could have adjusted. Or I might have been like so manywomen who look around in their thirties or forties and realize they have gone from being somebody's daughter to somebody's wife to somebody's mother, and they rebel. But I would have changed. I had to change, Mitch; it was inevitable. The accident and everything that happened after just made the changes come faster and more painfully."
"And now? You said you didn't know what you wanted or needed then. Do you know now?"
Another tough question. "Partly. I know what I don't want. I don't want to live through somebody else. To do what others expect me to do, be what they think I should be. I have to make my own choices, my own decisions. I have to control my own life, at least as much as any of us can."
"Kelly ... I never intentionally tried to make you be something you weren't."
"I know." She looked at him steadily. "But you needed me to be something I wasn't, Mitch, and I felt that even then. I'm not blaming you; none of us can help our needs. And I was more than willing. I needed the security of a dominant partner because I was afraid of being alone, afraid of testing my own strength. What you have to understand is that I don't need that anymore. Or want it. And if your needs haven't changed, you won't find what you're looking for in me."
The click of the tape deck turning itself off was loud in the silence. Then, quietly, Mitch said, "I have changed, Kelly. I went to sleep in my twenties and woke up in my thirties. I lost an eye, my best friend, and the girl I was going to marry. The father I never made peace with has died. The whole world is so changed, not an hour goes by that I don't notice I'm out of step in some way. I'm rebuilding my life almost from scratch. How could I not be different?"
Kelly felt the pressure of hot tears behind her eyes, and her throat was aching. His voice had held steady, the eloquent words not a plea for compassion but a simple statement of what had happened to him. It moved her in ways she hadn't expected, made her feel his losses as keenly as she felt her own. For the first time, she was aware of her guard wavering, as if one or both of them had taken at least a small step to begin crossing the years between them.
She didn't know what would happen when—or if—they met again somewhere in the present. Every step would be tentative and painful, the way carrying them across old hurts and new, unexplored ground. But if they did finally meet, it would be as two adults who had learned to see each other clearly.
Kelly was afraid of the distance yet to be crossed. She was afraid of opening old wounds. But she couldn't deny even to herself the knowledge that the attempt was something she couldn't walk—or run—away from.
Finally, she swallowed the ache in her throat and said, "Neither of us is the person we were ten years ago. And we can't go back. The only way is forward."
Mitch drew a short breath. "I want you to understand that even though I'm not sure of everything I need yet, I do know it isn't what I needed ten years ago. I guess I wanted security just like you did, but in a different way. I'd seen my parents fight a tug-of-war all my life, and it was like being caught up in a storm of bitterness that never died. I suppose that I believed if only one controlled in a relationship, there'd be peace."
"You don't think so now?"
A faint, rueful smile tugged at his lips. "I think control is an illusion we build to protect ourselves, and the larger we try to make that circle, the weaker it gets. We
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