can't control our own destinies, much less someone else's. And even the illusion is so fragile, any change can destroy it.
"I don't want peace, either, not that kind. Not the false calm of one person's individuality sacrificed. I saw the struggle my parents went through for years, and you've made me see what my own blindness would have done to us. But there must be a compromise between the two. There's a balance, Kelly, and that's what I hope we can find. A partnership. I don't want us to be together because either of us is afraid. We have to be whole before we can share what we are with each other."
She knew what he meant. For years she had felt incomplete. Finding her own strength had helped, but there was still, at the core of herself , some uncertainty she didn't want to examine too closely.
"Are you whole?" she asked hesitantly.
"No." His answer was immediate, his voice steady. "There are still too many pieces missing. I have to come to terms with what I lost and how it's changed me."
In a sudden moment of understanding, she said, "You knew that before you came here. You knew what we had was gone. But I am the only emotional tie left to your past."
Mitch nodded, his gaze holding hers. "I've been thinking about it ever since we talked earlier today. And in a way, you were right about that. But so was I. It's something I have to feel, to accept. I can't go forward until I stop looking back. I can't reconcile past and present yet. You're the only one who can help me do that, Kelly."
"So that's what you need from me now?"
He hesitated briefly. "Yes. For right now. You've had ten years to find yourself, and I think you have. But for me, the present's blurred because there's too much of the past standing in the way. I do have to close that chapter of my life and put it behind me."
He had, she realized, carefully talked about what he hoped they could find together before saying anything about closing the door on his past. It seemed he still believed she would be a part of his life no matter what he came to understand about the past and the present.
Her eyes still on him, she said, "You think that by spending time with me you'll be able to do that."
"Yes."
It was what she'd already agreed to, but the strain of this first day had stretched her nerves taut, and there was a request she had to make. "Mitch, I know we have to talk about all this. For both our sakes. But I—I don't think I can take much more right now. Can we try to forget about the past for a while? Tackle it slowly?"
The crooked smile softened his hard face. "I'll do my best."
She uncurled from the chair and found her discarded shoes, then got to her feet. "It's been a long day," she murmured, wryly aware of the understatement. "I'm going to bed."
"See you in the morning," Mitch said.
Kelly went up to her room. Without thinking very much, she closed the wooden shutters at the windows around the sunken tub in her bathroom and took a long, hot bath, trying to soak away the tension. When the water began to cool, she gotout and dried off. She dressed in a fresh nightgown from the small bureau, then opened her bedroom window an inch and crawled into the big four-poster.
The wind outside whined softly, and the ocean was a distant roar, rhythmic and soothing. She turned out her nightstand lamp and lay watching the moving shadows in the room as the trees outside filtered the moonlight.
Mitch had changed, she thought, but the enormous strength in him had withstood the years and all his losses. It was an emotional strength, the inner toughness of someone who had grown up in the midst of other strong personalities; he had learned young to assert himself, to avoid being overshadowed. That quality in him had awed her once, but now she simply respected it because she'd found her own brand of strength.
He seemed more patient now, more willing to listen to what she had to say. And more willing to talk about his own feelings. She thought the last year had changed
"I don't want peace, either, not that kind. Not the false calm of one person's individuality sacrificed. I saw the struggle my parents went through for years, and you've made me see what my own blindness would have done to us. But there must be a compromise between the two. There's a balance, Kelly, and that's what I hope we can find. A partnership. I don't want us to be together because either of us is afraid. We have to be whole before we can share what we are with each other."
She knew what he meant. For years she had felt incomplete. Finding her own strength had helped, but there was still, at the core of herself , some uncertainty she didn't want to examine too closely.
"Are you whole?" she asked hesitantly.
"No." His answer was immediate, his voice steady. "There are still too many pieces missing. I have to come to terms with what I lost and how it's changed me."
In a sudden moment of understanding, she said, "You knew that before you came here. You knew what we had was gone. But I am the only emotional tie left to your past."
Mitch nodded, his gaze holding hers. "I've been thinking about it ever since we talked earlier today. And in a way, you were right about that. But so was I. It's something I have to feel, to accept. I can't go forward until I stop looking back. I can't reconcile past and present yet. You're the only one who can help me do that, Kelly."
"So that's what you need from me now?"
He hesitated briefly. "Yes. For right now. You've had ten years to find yourself, and I think you have. But for me, the present's blurred because there's too much of the past standing in the way. I do have to close that chapter of my life and put it behind me."
He had, she realized, carefully talked about what he hoped they could find together before saying anything about closing the door on his past. It seemed he still believed she would be a part of his life no matter what he came to understand about the past and the present.
Her eyes still on him, she said, "You think that by spending time with me you'll be able to do that."
"Yes."
It was what she'd already agreed to, but the strain of this first day had stretched her nerves taut, and there was a request she had to make. "Mitch, I know we have to talk about all this. For both our sakes. But I—I don't think I can take much more right now. Can we try to forget about the past for a while? Tackle it slowly?"
The crooked smile softened his hard face. "I'll do my best."
She uncurled from the chair and found her discarded shoes, then got to her feet. "It's been a long day," she murmured, wryly aware of the understatement. "I'm going to bed."
"See you in the morning," Mitch said.
Kelly went up to her room. Without thinking very much, she closed the wooden shutters at the windows around the sunken tub in her bathroom and took a long, hot bath, trying to soak away the tension. When the water began to cool, she gotout and dried off. She dressed in a fresh nightgown from the small bureau, then opened her bedroom window an inch and crawled into the big four-poster.
The wind outside whined softly, and the ocean was a distant roar, rhythmic and soothing. She turned out her nightstand lamp and lay watching the moving shadows in the room as the trees outside filtered the moonlight.
Mitch had changed, she thought, but the enormous strength in him had withstood the years and all his losses. It was an emotional strength, the inner toughness of someone who had grown up in the midst of other strong personalities; he had learned young to assert himself, to avoid being overshadowed. That quality in him had awed her once, but now she simply respected it because she'd found her own brand of strength.
He seemed more patient now, more willing to listen to what she had to say. And more willing to talk about his own feelings. She thought the last year had changed
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