Chapter 12

The winter had finally passed. And with it all the dark, worrisome days, those times of crisis and constant doubt, those times when it was feared that Joanna would never shake the effects of those 48 hours spent in the madman's clutches. She had been under a doctor's and psychiatrist's care since their return from France in late October.

And now, spring at hand, that first invigorating warmth of April and May investing the world with new life, new hope-

This afternoon Joanna worked in her flower beds. Crouching on her hands and knees, planting, fertilizing, turning over the dark, rich loam, she felt content. The sun warm on her back, she felt safe and calm-totally at peace-for the first time in weeks.

The good times had come and gone, come and gone. And every time she'd thought she was finally on the mend, that the memories couldn't return, couldn't touch her again-

She'd had mental relapses that had plunged her back into the depths again. Both she and Mayo had despaired of ever being truly happy again in their lives. She'd suffered sleepless nights, nightmares, fits of nerves that brought her from restless sleep screaming at the top of her lungs. Those times she'd shivered like a malaria victim, had clung to Mayo with all her strength, screamed and sobbed uncontrollably.

She paused in her labors, looked out at two skylarking bluebirds who were reconnoitering the snug birdhouse she and Mayo had put up only last weekend. Soon they would be mating. Then there would be eggs, baby bluebirds-

A hazy wistfulness filled her. Their frantic, happy antics seemed prophetic.

How could she think such morbid thoughts at a time like this?

Yet remember she did. Dr. Lyon had told her repeatedly that the reminiscences of those grim times were as much therapy as their consultations. For, like a person who is thrown by a horse, never attempts riding again. To avoid those memories, pretend those things had never happened, would leave her crippled for love-love in its truest sense-for the rest of her life.

She could sham love with Mayo, she could go through the motions, she could perhaps fool Mayo, the whole world in the bargain. But she couldn't fool herself. And if this was left unchanged, she would never be truly happily married as long as she lived. In time the repressed memories would form a malignant cancer in her psyche, a cancer that would eventually kill her marriage.

She must understand that the psychotic Sharkawi was a sick man, possessed and driven by demons. An outcast, he'd taken this means to revenge himself on a society that had rejected him. And if Joanna had had the bad luck to be his victim, she still mustn't let this alter her outlook toward the whole world. Certainly not toward her husband.

Joanna had to admit that she'd been able to force herself to those reveries more easily of late, that their after-effect was less deadly now. She could even admit that, as ghastly as her abduction and nonstop abuse had been, there had been compensations derived from that nightmare nevertheless.

For hadn't Mayo proved his love in the long run, hadn't he moved heaven and hell to find her when she'd been kidnapped? Indifferent and selfish he'd been before, but hadn't he been a new man since? Hadn't he forgiven, understood her, hadn't she forgiven and understood as well? He'd stood by her steadfastly throughout her long illness-a rock of strength-she'd never had cause to doubt his fidelity for a minute.

And if Joanna had thought she loved her husband before this tragedy, she was now only first beginning to learn the extreme depths of love. Even with this evil phantom lurking in the background, she was far, far happier with her life than she'd ever been before. She and Mayo shared, they laughed and played together. He'd sublimated that almost pathological drive for success and power, he was now content to earn a comfortable living for them, stop at that, steal more time to be with his wife.

Midland Precast Concrete was a thing of the past. He'd accepted a last bonus as a reward for closing the Paris deal, then he had resigned. He now occupied a low-pressure executive job in a farm implement corporation. The salary was less than half his former salary; but they were a hundred times as happy.

They hadn't heard of or from the De Fonsecas since that awkward day they'd said good-bye to them at Orly Field. A sick, confused chapter had closed in their lives and they'd remained civilized to the last, had parodied a warm friendship.

The De Fonsecas had been forgotten the minute they'd faded out of sight on the visitor's ramp.

And the misfit named Kamil Sharkawi? He was now lodged in the violent ward of a well-known French mental institution. Regressed to a childish level, he had, at last word, become a menace to any other inmate who happened to get in his way. That he had not killed Joanna during that nightmare was a miracle that she, Mayo, the authorities had often marveled over.

So, granted that there would always be bad times, moments when that nightmare would return to haunt her. But they would occur at rarer and rarer intervals; she would learn to live with them. And one day, perhaps years from now. She would awaken and there would be a void where that agonizing memory had once lived.

Joanna rose now, brushed off her slacks, stretched out the kinks. She felt a giddy excitement as she touched her body to realize that a baby-Mayo's baby-grew inside of her. To realize that the child was wanted, to remember how Mayo had humbly begged her to become the mother of his baby. A thing that had done more than anything else to hurry her total recovery. For if Mayo wanted this responsibility at long last. They were well. Their marriage was well. It could only grow and flourish now.

Joanna glanced at her watch, saw that it was almost time for Mayo's return from the office. She put her gardening tools aside, hurried inside to be ready for him.

It was as she showered, anticipated her husband's arrival eagerly, that she was surprised as the shower door was playfully slid aside, and she saw Mayo gravely, yet adoringly watching her. "Darling" she squealed. "You startled me. How come you're home so early?"

"I got to missing you, told the boss I was taking off early. Told him I had a headache."

"That's the second time this week. Won't he begin to get suspicious?"

"So? I'll tell him to get a new boy if he doesn't like it." He darted a hand inside the shower, cupped one of her wet, slippery breasts. "Mmmmm, that looks tempting."

"What? Me or the shower?"

"Both. Mind if I join you?"

"Love to have you. Come ahead."

Moments later, as Mayo entered the shower, she said, "I needed someone to wash my back anyway."

"Slave driver. Talk about sentimental."

"Mmmmm, not so rough. My back, I said."

"Oh. I guess my hand slipped."

"Your hand's always slipping."

"And aren't you glad?"

Joanna arched her body, purred thickly. "Oooh, honey. Am I! You realize what you're doing, don't you."

"What's that?"

"You're jeopardizing your cocktail hour."

"I'll risk, that. I drink too much anyway."

"You do something else to much too."

"I'm an old man, baby. Almost thirty-six. I have to get my jollies while I can." His voice dropped, became serious. "Besides I have to make up for all those times I missed. When I didn't know how to take care of an extravagant, beautiful woman like you. I mean that, baby."

She clung to him, let her tummy slither against his. "Don't, baby. You'll have me melting right here."

"That would never do." His hands became even busier; he laved each of her breasts prolongedly, the sensation of his soapy fingers on her flesh exquisitely exciting. "Honey," she teased, "I washed there already."

"A gal can never be too clean." His hands dove. "Especially here."

Joanna's hands followed suit. "Honey ... " he warned. "Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander ... " Moments later the banter went out of their voices. An ardent, husky affection replaced it. Shortly they were in each other's arms kissing, kissing, their bodies sliding provocatively against each other.

Joanna pulled away. "I must look a mess. I wanted to be all dressed and pretty for you when you got home."

His hand gathered a buttock, used it as a handle to tuck her closer. "Prettier than this you just don't get."

"You mean it, lover."

"I mean it. Want proof."

"What've you got in mind."

"You know what I've got in mind. Okay?" Her voice was breathy, impassioned. "Okay. You know that's always okay with me. Just so long as you.want me.

Really want me. like lately."

"Baby," he growled. "Time's a wasting."

Then they were out of the shower, they were eagerly toweling each other off. Joanna fled from the bathroom first, went to open the bed. The drapes were drawn, she was spread full length on the sheets when he came into the bedroom. The muted sunlight haloed her body, made it a rhapsody of pink and gold. Her nipples were crinkled and erect. Small traces of scar tissue still remained, eternal reminder, but they weren't bad enough to disfigure those lush nibs.

If one looked hard there were other reminders, other faint scars. But no one ever looked, least of all Mayo.

He came to Joanna, that moving look of humble gratitude in his eyes. He leaned, kissed her in that so sensitive moment. An attention that never failed to arouse her. bring her to quick passion. Still there were reservations, grim reminder here too. "Darling," she removed his lips. "Should you? I mean...."

"I should," he said fervently, the gesture supreme testament to the fact that all was forgiven, all was forgotten. She was not tainted in his eyes.

Joanna shuddered. If he can confer this testament, why can't I ? Only she was afraid. Every time she'd ever tried previously she'd been repelled, the reminder had been too strong. But today, in the wealth of this new season, in the strength of her newborn confidence and peace of mind-

Could she see the self-sacrifice through?

She could. At least she could try.

And as she came over Mayo, as she bent to him: He forestalled her gently. "Darling ... are you sure? You don't have to, you know. This is my gift. To compensate for all those years I was so blind, so stupid...."

"I'm sure. This is my gift."

She came to him, kissed him. Continued attending him for a long time. Until Mayo couldn't bear to be a mere bystander. He returned to his original position.

Afterward, in the throes of that fantastic, purgative love, when they pledged themselves wholly, unstintingly to that shattering and simultaneous glory, Joanna quaked, "My darling, I've never felt like this with you before. This is the most magnificent-the most complete. I never thought you and I-could ever-"

"You and I, darling. Forever and ever."

"And baby makes three."

"Another reason for splurging now."

"Will you think me awful if I scream?"

"Scream, sweet. You make me so proud."

"Darling, darling," she sobbed. Now her sobs became shrill mistral.

It was at that moment that Spring was officially launched. A season of warmth and joy and color. A season for love.

A season for rebirth.