“No. Don’t go yet.” She didn’t care that her words came out rather desperate. “Can’t we talk for a few more minutes?”
“I’m not safe around you. Not here. With you in your nightgown.”
She glanced down in the darkness at her simple summer gown, sleeveless and satiny, falling all the way to the floor. It was one among many that Madame Bisseau had made for her trousseau, a more modest one that she’d grabbed in her hasty packing the night she’d left Newport. She hadn’t stopped to consider how such a gown might affect Tom.
She wrapped the afghan around her more securely. “There. Is that better?”
“No, the only thing that will make our situation better is if we end our stay.”
“Our stay?”
“Here at Race Point.” Resignation gave strength to his voice.
She shook her head. She wasn’t ready to leave. She loved being here with him, having him all to herself. If they left, he’d return to his role as her silent protector. And she’d have to return to her life in Newport and try to make sense of everything, including what to do about Nathaniel. She wasn’t ready to face any of that.
“Tomorrow I’m going to Provincetown and sending the first telegram.”
She didn’t understand what he meant by sending a telegram. But it didn’t matter. She wanted to have their fairy tale just a little longer. “Please don’t. I want to be with you here. Besides, you said we needed a month.”
“I can hardly make it through one night.” His tone was laced with frustration. “Much less finish the month.”
She’d known he would be hard on himself for crossing his self-imposed boundaries. Even so, she was sorely disappointed to think of this special time with him coming to an end. “I don’t want to lose you,” she admitted.
He didn’t reassure her, which only added to her anxiety.
“I thought we agreed that we would see where our relationship took us, that maybe we wouldn’t need to put an end to it when our time here is over.”
“Victoria.” His tone turned soft and placating. And she didn’t want that.
“There’s still so much we don’t know about each other, so much left to explore…” She sat forward on the sofa, wishing she could drag him over and force him to sit down with her. “Like the fact that I never knew you were a painter. And not just any painter, but a very talented one with such depth and realism in each picture.” She waited for him to say something, anything. But he was silent. “Why didn’t you tell me about that part of you?”
“It’s not part of me anymore.”
“Sure it is. That’s who God made you to be.”
“It was a childhood whim.”
“Those aren’t the works of a child.”
“I don’t paint anymore.” His voice was flat.
“But—”
“Never again.”
The tightness in his statement gave her pause, reminded her of his stubbornness. He wouldn’t be swayed by her arguments. At least not right now.
“Very well, we won’t talk about your paintings, but will you at least tell me more about your brother, Ike?”
“No!” The word was as frosty as the ocean in the winter.
“You didn’t mention that you had a brother,” she pressed. “How are we supposed to really get to know each other if we aren’t honest and open about our pasts?”
“Maybe my present is all I have to offer.”
“Your mom told me about how she lost her feet and how—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said sharply in a tone he’d never used with her before.
“Please, Tom. Talk to me. How can we build a relationship if we keep our feelings hidden from each other?”
“Maybe we can’t build a relationship.” Again his tone was cold.
A warning in the back of her mind told her that she should stop the conversation, but she could feel him pushing her away, and she was suddenly desperate to cling to him. “Your mom told me you didn’t want to leave Ike behind, but she wouldn’t tell me anymore than that.”
“She shouldn’t have told you anything.”
“She’s accepted what happened and found joy in living.”
“Joy in losing her son? Joy in losing her feet?” The anguish in his voice ripped at her. “You don’t know anything about loss or hardship, Victoria. So don’t preach to me.”
She didn’t realize her hands had begun to shake until she folded them in her lap. Her mind scrambled to find a response that wouldn’t anger Tom even further. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know about hardship. But I’d