A Woman Without Lies Part 16

He could learn, though.

That was how living things survived. Learning from mistakes.

aYou havenat answered my question,a Hawk said, his voice uninflected. aWhy do you get angry when I call you Angel?a aEverybody calls me Angie. Thereas nothing special between us. Why should you call me anything but Angie?a aThe fact that you gave your virginity to me isnat special?a aIt should have been, a agreed Angel in sardonic tones that echoed his. aBut it ended up about as special as a skinned knee.a aKeep pus.h.i.+ng me. Youall find the limit,a promised Hawk, meaning every word.

Angelas eyes narrowed. She smiled a tiny, cold smile, liking the idea of finding Hawkas limit.

Of hurting him.

aSo I find your limit. So what?a Angel asked carelessly. aNever argue with someone like me, Hawk. Iave got nothing left to lose. It gives me an edge.a aWhat about Derry?a Hawk asked smoothly, watching her.

Abruptly Angel curbed the cruelty that had snaked out of her own pain. She had forgotten how easya"and how terribly satisfyinga"it could be to turn agony into cruelty and then watch the rest of the world bleed with each razor cut of her tongue.

But cruelty only bred more cruelty, maiming the people around her, corroding her soul, until cruelty became a downward spiral of self-destruction that wouldnat end short of death.

Angelas realization that she hadnat learned her lesson well enough in the past was like getting an open-handed blow across the mouth. She paled until her haunted eyes were the only color in her face.

I will try very hard not to destroy myself over Hawk. I will die rather than destroy Derry.

aAngel is the name I called myself after the accident, when I finally decided to live,a she said.

Hawk listened to the soft, controlled, emotionless words and felt a chill spreading through him.

aAn angel is something alive that once was dead. Like me,a she said. aAlive and then dead and then alive again. Angel.a Hawk fought the desire to take Angel in his arms. All that kept his hands at his side was the knowledge that she would turn on him like a cornered animal.

He didnat blame her. He had hurt her cruelly, and he had no experience in healing. He had nothing to give her but emptiness and a ravenous, soul-deep curiosity about the fragile, elusive, powerful complex of emotions known as love.

A lifetime of questions waiting to be answered.

aWould you sleep with me again, for Derry?a Hawk asked.

Angel heard curiosity rather than desire in Hawkas question.

aYou donat want me,a she said, aso the question doesnat arise.a aWhat makes you think I donat want you?a The harsh sound that came from Angelas lips could hardly be called laughter. She looked up at Hawk, her eyes as hard as jade.

aYou didnat enjoy that disaster on the boat any more than I did,a she said. aSo donat worry. I wonat trip you and beat you to the floor. No more amateur hour for either one of us. Thatas a promise.a Angel tilted her head so that she could see the face of Hawkas gold watch.

aThe tide changes in twenty minutes,a she said matter-of-factly. aWhich will it be, Hawk? Fish or cut bait.a aOh, Iall fish. Always.a Then Hawk bent down until he could feel Angelas warmth seeping through the soft cotton of her dress. Close, very close, but not touching her.

aDid you really think you loved me, Angel?a The stained gla.s.s rose Angel had held in her mind exploded into a thousand cutting shards. Suddenly she was unable to bear being close to Hawk any longer.

Angel turned and ran toward the cliff trail. Each movement brought silver cries from the bells she wore. The sweet sounds went into Hawk like tiny blows too small to dodge, tiny wounds opening, tiny hooks teaching him how to bleed.

Hawk ran after her, afraid that she would slip on the narrow trail, afraid that she would fall because her wings had been torn and she could no longer fly.

Yet even when he caught up with Angel and his hard hand held her to a more sensible pace, she ignored him, refusing in pale silence to answer his question about love.

Hawk did not ask again. He had learned that Angelas truths were as painful for her as they were for him.

17.

aLet me take that,a Hawk said.

He lifted the heavy, two-foot-square stained-gla.s.s panel from Angelas hands. She didnat object. It would have done no good, anyway. Hawkas speed and strength were superior to hers.

Angel watched as his glance skimmed indifferently over Mrs. Careyas gift. The light in the hall was dim, more twilight than day. The pieces of gla.s.s were subdued, almost dull, as ordinary as crayon colors on cheap paper.

Then Hawk walked into the sunlight pouring over the front steps. The panel in his hands leaped into radiance, colors flas.h.i.+ng and expanding in a silent explosion of beauty.

He stopped, unable to move, consumed by colors. Silence stretched into one minute, two, three, but he didnat notice. He tilted the panel first one way and then the other, wholly caught in the fantastic sensual wealth of colors pooling in his hands.

Finally he looked up and saw Angel watching him.

aThatas why I love stained gla.s.s,a she said, looking at the brilliance s.h.i.+mmering in Hawkas grasp. aItas like life. Everything depends on the light you view it in.a The words had no more than left Angelas lips that she realized that the words could be applied to Hawk. Silently she closed the door behind him, hoping that he hadnat noticed.

aAre you trying to tell me that my point of view on life is too dark?a Hawk asked.

The question told Angel that he had not only noticed, he had understood all the subtle ramifications.

I should have expected it. Hawk is the quickest, most intelligent man Iave ever met.

aNo,a Angel said. aI was merely making an observation on the nature of stained gla.s.s and light.a She walked toward her car, not looking at Hawk. In the three days since she and Hawk had talked on the beach, she had carefully avoided anything that hinted of personal topics.

aNothing personal, is that it?a Hawk asked with a black lift of his eyebrow.

aAs you say. Nothing personal.a Angel opened the trunk of her car, shook out an old quilt, and gestured for Hawk to put the panel on the quilt.

aHow much is a piece like this worth?a Hawk asked.

She watched as he handled the awkward panel with an ease she envied. Powerful, supple, hard, his body moved with a male grace that surprised her anew each time she noticed it. Like stained gla.s.s, Hawk kept changing with each angle, each moment, each s.h.i.+ft of illumination.

And like gla.s.s, he could cut her to the bone in the first instant of her carelessness.

aA small panel like this would bring between ten and twelve hundred dollars,a Angel said, wrapping the stained gla.s.s with deft motions. aMinus the gallery commission, of course, and the cost of materials. Good gla.s.s is very expensive.a She closed the trunk lid.

aHow many pieces did you have in the show in Vancouver?a persisted Hawk.

aThirty-two.a Angel opened her purse and rummaged for her keys.

aDid they sell?a Hawk asked.

She looked up, only to find herself impaled on eyes as brown and clear as crystal.

aAll but three,a she said.

aThe ones that solda"were they small?a aNo. They were quite large. Why?a Hawk ignored the question.

aHow many shows do you do a year?a he asked.

Angel pulled her keys out of her purse and faced Hawk, wondering why he cared. But it was easier to answer than to argue. In any case, it didnat really matter.

Money was a safe topic. It wasnat personal, like emotions.

aThree shows this year,a Angel said. aOne in Seattle, one in Portland, and one in Vancouver.a aDid they all go well?a aYes.a aYou really donat need the money from Eagle Head, do you?a asked Hawk.

aNo.a aBut Derry does.a aYes.a aWhy?a Angel hesitated, then shrugged. Hawk could always ask Derry. It was hardly a secret in any case.

aDerry wants to be a surgeon,a she said. aThat means between six and ten more years of advanced training. Heas been accepted at Harvard, but no scholars.h.i.+p was offered because, technically, Derry is wealthy.a aEagle Head.a aYes.a aI see.a aDo you?a Angel asked, looking swiftly at Hawk. aFor once, let me be sure thereas enough light on the subject.a She took a swift breath, steeling herself for the words to come.

aThis isnat a boyish whim on Derryas part,a Angel said. aMy parents were killed instantly in the wreck. Derryas mother wasnat. His brother wasnat. Derry dragged them freea"and then watched them bleed to death because he didnat know enough to save their lives.a Hawkas face was expressionless, utterly still, his eyes almost black. There was a question he wanted to ask but he didnat know how to word it without watching ghosts darken Angelas eyes.

aAnd you?a he asked finally, softly. aWere you conscious after Derry pulled you out of the wreckage?a aYes. I couldnat help Derry.a Angel heard the question Hawk didnat quite know how to ask. She knew how to answer it, though.

And she knew how much the answer would hurt her.

Derry. Derry needs Hawk, Angel told herself harshly. I have to make Hawk understand.

aMy collarbone was smashed, my ribs were broken, I had multiple fractures of both legs,a she said neutrally. aDerryas mother was unconscious. His brother wasnat that lucky. So I lay there, I couldnat move, and I listened to Granta"a Her voice stopped. When the words resumed, they were like powdered gla.s.s, no color, just sharp edges abrading everything they touched.

aWhen it was over,a Angel said carefully, aDerry wept and beat his fists against the road until there was no skin, only blood. I could do nothing about that, either.a aAngel,a Hawk said softly, touching her cheek with gentle fingertips, regretting his question and her pain.

She stepped away from the touch.

aDerry swore then to become a doctor, saving lives to replace the lives he hadnat known how to save,a Angel said. aItas his way to make peace with a life that was cruel enough to leave him uninjured so that he could watch his mother bleed to death and his brother die in agony.a Angel looked up and her breath caught. She had seen enough sadness and pain to recognize it in Hawkas dark features.

aYou really do like Derry, donat you?a she said, surprised that Hawk could feel that much emotion. aHe likes you, too. G.o.d knows why,a she added absently, frowning.

She had never understood Derryas smiling acceptance of Hawkas razor tongue.

Hawkas face became expressionless again.

aMaybe I remind Derry of Grant,a suggested Hawk.

aYouare nothing like Derryas brother.a aOh?a The black arc of Hawkas eyebrow irritated Angel.

aGrant was capable of love,a she said coolly.

aThen he must have been loved,a Hawk shot back.

aWhat do you mean?a aGrantas mother loved him. Derry loved him. You loved him.a aYes.a aThat must have been nice,a Hawk said.

His voice was flat. His words were simple statement rather than ironic mockery: It must have been nice to be loved.

aAnd you were loved, werenat you, Angel? Your parents, Grant, Derry, even Carlson. In their own way, they all loved you.a aYes,a whispered Angel. aAnd I loved them.a aLove linking to love. A bright, magic, closed circle.a Hawkas face changed, memories like talons in his mind.

aBut your parentsa"a began Angel, only to stop.

Hawkas harsh laughter overrode her, laughter tearing through her, hurting her as it must have hurt him. She held her hand out as though to touch him.

aHawk,a she said, adonat.a Then Hawk spoke, and his words were worse than his laughter.

aMy mother was six months pregnant with me when she married my father,a Hawk said. aOnly he wasnat my father. He didnat know it at the time. She told him when I was six. She told him by pinning a note to my s.h.i.+rt just before she ran off with a traveling man.a Hawkas smile was sardonic.

aNice touch, that,a he added. aDump a kid on a man and tell him it isnat his.a Angel tried to speak.

Hawk didnat notice. His clear, bleak eyes were focused on the past.

aDad kept me,a Hawk said. aI never could figure out why. It sure as h.e.l.l wasnat out of love. His mother came to live with us. There wasnat any love in her, either. Oh, they were kind enough, so far as that goes. I didnat starve. They never used anything worse than a belt on me no matter how drunk they were.a Angel flinched, remembering when Hawk had told her that he had taken his dadas fis.h.i.+ng gear without permission and been soundly beaten for it. She had thought it a joke at the time.

Now she knew better. The knowledge didnat comfort her.

aI had already learned how to work when my mother took off,a continued Hawk. aI grew vegetables, raised chickens, delivered papers, whatever. The money went to them, to pay for room and board.a aBut you were only a child,a Angel said, hardly able to comprehend.

aI ate their food. I wore clothes they found for me. I slept in a blanket they gave me.a Hawk shrugged again, dismissing the subject of material wealth. Being poor hadnat bothered him. Being unloved had.

aThey werenat fattening themselves at my expense,a he said. aOur farm was a joke. Five hundred acres, and not enough water to irrigate more than ten. Itas dry in west Texas. Real dry. Only thing that land is good for is raising dust and h.e.l.l. Itas more fun to raise h.e.l.l than dust. I raised more than my share.a With a sudden movement, Hawk went to the far side of Angelas car, opened the door, and slid into the pa.s.senger seat.

Angel stood without moving, still caught in the words that illuminated an aspect of Hawk that she had never suspecteda"Hawkas past, as harsh as the land he had described.

She wanted to ask questions, many questions, because she sensed that there was more to be told.

Other boys have been abandoned by mothers and yet learned to love and trust women. Carlson, for one. His childhood was no better than Hawkas. Even worse Carlson had been half-Indian; he had to fight for room to live and work in white society.

Yet Carlson knew how to love.

Why didnat Hawk?

Hawk leaned over and opened the driveras door, silently inviting Angel to get into her own car. She slid behind the wheel. With a hand that trembled slightly, she turned the key and started her car. She glanced swiftly at Hawk.

He didnat notice. Other than opening the door for her, he seemed unaware of her existence. She wondered what he was thinking, what fragments of the past he was looking at, what their colors were . . . and how many edges they had, how deeply they cut him.

Angel asked no more, though. She was still learning from the first instants when Hawkas words had illuminated him. The colors he had shown her were dark, almost brutal, yet their intensity was compelling, their possibilities alluring.

Silently Angel drove to Mrs. Careyas house. As she parked in front, she looked questioningly at Hawk. She hadnat expected him to come with her in the first place. She didnat know whether he wanted to go inside or wait in the car until she was finished.

Hawk looked at Angel.

aI take it weare here, wherever that is,a he said.

aMrs. Careyas house.a Hawk encouraged Angel with a look.