“No.”
He looked pained. “Why do I get the feeling you’re closing the door on me again?” When she didn’t say anything, he stepped closer. “What’s going on, Hildie?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get there, Trip. I don’t know how long I’m going to be away. Months? A year? I have no way of knowing.” If she was gone too long, he might find someone else. She wouldn’t want to come back. And what would Mama say if she showed up with a young man? She hadn’t mentioned Trip in any letters, holding tight to her feelings, not sharing them with anyone, except Boots, who couldn’t help but see. What would Trip think if Mama spoke her mind as she always did? “Well, this is the first I’ve heard you have a young man in your life.” What then?
Covering her face, Hildie burst into more tears. Embarrassed to have Trip see her so out of control, she turned away. She didn’t dare tell him how she felt. It would only make everything worse. When Trip touched her shoulder, she moved away. Wiping her face, she gulped. “It’s better if I go home alone. I’ll have time to think, time to get control of my emotions. I need to make some kind of plan for how to care for him.”
Trip came up behind her and ran his hands down her arms. He spoke gently, reasonably. “What are your mother and father going to think of me if you arrive on a bus?”
She bit her lip. “They won’t think anything.”
“I know what I’d think. My daughter is keeping company with an insensitive man who doesn’t care anything about her family. Not much of a recommendation there.” He turned her around. “Hildie?”
“They don’t know about you.”
He went still, his eyes flickering with confusion, then hurt. “You never told them about us?” When she didn’t answer, he let out his breath as though punched. He took his hands from her waist. “Well, I guess that makes it clear where I stand.”
“You don’t understand.”
He stepped back and held up his hands in surrender. “It’s okay. You don’t need to explain. I get it.”
“Trip. Please.”
“Please what? You can’t love someone if you can’t trust him, Hildie, and you’ve never let yourself trust me.” Eyes moist, he turned away. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming. I’m just dense.” He picked up her two suitcases. “Is this it?” He didn’t meet her eyes. “Anything else you want to take home with you?”
Was he giving her one last chance?
“You’re right, Hildie. I don’t understand.” He went out the door. She had no choice but to follow, lock the door behind her, and get in his car.
Neither spoke on the drive to the bus station. He pulled up in front. When he started to open his door, she put her hand on his arm. “Don’t get out of the car. Please. I can make it on my own.” She tried to smile. She tried to tell him the last six months had been the happiest of her life. She tried to tell him she loved him and would never forget him as long as she lived. Instead, she gulped and said, “Don’t hate me, Trip.”
“I don’t hate you.”
So much for happily ever after. “Good-bye, Trip.” Trembling all over, she reached for the door handle.
Swearing softly, Trip reached for her. “Just one thing before you go.” He dug his fingers into her hair. “I’ve wanted to do this for weeks.” He kissed her. He wasn’t tentative or careful or even gentle. He drank her in and filled her up with sensations. When he drew back, they both sat breathing hard, stunned. He ran his thumb over her lips, tears filling his eyes. “Something to remember me by.” He let go, leaned across, and shoved the door open. “I’m sorry about your father, Hildie.”
Standing on the sidewalk with her two suitcases, Hildie watched Trip drive away. He didn’t look back. Not once.
She boarded the bus, found a seat in the last row by herself, and cried all the way to Murietta.
Mama stood waiting outside the bus station. She frowned when Hildie came down the steps, collected her luggage, and met her. They didn’t embrace. Mama shook her head. “You look awful. Are you going to be all right? I don’t want you going to pieces the minute you walk in the door and see your father. That will just make it worse for him. You understand me?”
Cover up. Pretend everything is all right. “I got it out of my system on the way home.”
“I hope so.”
Hildie had no intention of telling her mother she had just lost the love of her life. “How long have you known about the cancer?” She put her suitcases in the backseat and sat in front.
“It came on suddenly.” Mama started the car.
“No symptoms at all?”
“I’m not a nurse, Hildemara. He looked a little yellow to me, and I told him so, but your father said he didn’t have time for a doctor. Not then, anyway.” She ground the gears.
Yellow? Oh, God. “Is it in his liver?”
“Yes.”
Hildemara shut her eyes for a moment and then looked out the window, hoping Mama wouldn’t guess what she already knew. It wouldn’t be long.
Mama drove more slowly than usual. “I’m glad you’re home, Hildemara.”
“So am I, Mama. So am I.”
Papa sat in the living room, his Bible open on his lap. Hildie set her suitcases down and went to him, trying not to show the shock at his changed physical appearance. “Hello, Papa.”
He rose with difficulty. “Hildemara! Mama said she had a surprise for me.”
When he opened his arms, Hildie walked into them. She held him firmly, but gently, willing herself not to cry. “I’m home, Papa.” She ran her hands over his back, guessing at how much weight he had lost since Christmas. She could feel his vertebrae, his ribs.
Papa took her by the arms and stepped back. “There was a time when you couldn’t put your arms all the way around me.” He had always stood straight and tall with broad shoulders and thick biceps. Now he was bent from weariness and pain. He edged back toward his chair, reaching back with a tremulous hand. She wanted to step forward and help him, but the look on his face prevented her. He had his pride, and she had already damaged it with her quick tactile examination.
“He doesn’t have much appetite.” Mama stood in the middle of the room. “But I’ll get supper on the stove. I’m sure you’re hungry after your long trip, Hildemara.”
Hildie bent and picked up her suitcases so Papa wouldn’t see her tears. “I hope I’m not sleeping on the sofa.”
“Bernie’s room is empty, now that he and Elizabeth are settled in the new cottage. You can sleep in there. Bernie’s out in the orchard. Elizabeth loves farming as much as your brother. She grows flats of flowers for the nursery.”
“Wish she’d grow us some grandchildren,” Papa said with a laugh.
Hildie felt a wave of sadness. She had learned more than she wanted to know about some things while in the hospital. For Bernie to father a child, after the case of mumps he’d had as a boy, would take a miracle. She remembered him screaming in pain as the disease attacked his testicles. She hadn’t understood then what she knew now. She wondered if Dr. Whiting would ever tell them. Probably not, unless they asked. “Will they be eating with us?”
“No. She cooks for the two of them.”
Hildie set her suitcases in Bernie’s old room and looked out through the screen. The cottage her brother had built for his bride was white with yellow shutters. A flower box held purple pansies and white alyssum. A lattice shed had been built beyond the washhouse past the bay tree. Elizabeth stood inside it, working among flats of flowers.
“Rikka will be home from school soon,” Mama called out over the radio Papa always wanted turned on in the living room. Another radio music program had been interrupted with the increasingly dismal news in Europe. Germans were bombing Paris. Norway surrendered. In Italy, Mussolini declared war on Britain and France. As sick as he was, Papa still wanted to know what went on in the world.