Rochelle refused to go to lunch or dinner that day. Joe brought food to her, and she thanked him, hardly eating more than a few bites to sustain her energy. The night came and went, and she was exhausted from tossing and turning all night.
When Curly and Joe knocked on her door, she opened it, looking like she had waged war with hell. When the men invited her to breakfast, she refused without any reason. Having encountered Michael's disposition as he stalked off to the restaurant, they decided she did not need a reason. Paradise was in one big hell of a mess.
Joe took it upon himself to have something sent to Rochelle's room. A heavy mood like a dark cloud descended upon them all, and the adrenaline charged excitement stimulated by the rescue was behind them. They were ready to get home.
Michael looked like he had fought the same battle Rochelle had.
He had not bothered to shave, and his eyes were red and bloodshot like he was the devil's own emissary. Not one among them was sorry that they would be flying off to Montana that day and would have this experience behind them.
Rochelle sat in her room, distractedly pushing her fork about the food sent to her room. She took a bite distastefully. Her emotions were too tight and tense to allow an appetite. She pushed the dish aside, and drank the coffee, refilling her cup from the little carafe that held two extra cups. She could not help but feel like a death ship washed ashore on a lonely island. Behind her was imprisonment, and ahead of her was cold emptiness. She was certain that whatever she and Michael once shared was now finished.
She continued sitting in her motel room, not a penny to her name, and no clothing but what she wore, not knowing what she would do if Michael decided to leave her there. While the thought of being left behind might sound preposterous to anyone else, to Rochelle, who had suffered too numerous abuses to count, she expected nearly anything anymore. Few things in life surprised her.
She didn't know what she would do, did not even care any longer.
She stretched out on the bed, wishing she could take a nap when the knock sounded on the adjoining door. She continued lying there, hoping he would just go away and leave her alone, leave her in peace—or misery—whatever it was drawing the life from her. The knock became more persistent, and still she ignored it. She did not want to see him again, did not want to be reminded of how much she hurt from seeing his disapproving face and feeling his rejection.
Then like a giant shadow invading her room and thoughts, the door between the two rooms opened and Michael entered, his unshaven chin reminding her of Tobias's scary dark features.
“Chelle…” was all he said, standing there staring at her.
“What do you want, Michael?” she asked, too emotionally drained to pretend cordiality.
“I want you to try to understand. I don't know what in the hell is happening to me. God, I cannot even stand myself. I know I'm a son of a bitch, but I swear to you, I'm trying like hell to get control.”
“Get control of what, Michael?” she asked dryly. “How can I understand when I don't know what's wrong?”
“I've got a head problem, Chelle, But, I'm working on it, trying to put it behind me.”
The space between Rochelle's eyes narrowed. “Michael, you're not making sense,” she said dispassionately. “I don't understand, and I'm tired of guessing. It is as though you want me, but don't want me. I don't know you anymore. I don't know who you are, or what you want, but I have decided you don't want me. Your attitude toward me is so despicable that I prefer not to be in your company.”
He paced a few steps. “I'm trying to handle this, Chelle. Is it too much to ask for a little patience on your part?”
“Patience, Michael? You want me to be patient while you treat me with contempt. With the hell I went through with Tobias, do you think I want another man who treats me as badly as he did?”
“Don't compare me to that son of a bitch! If not for him...”
She paused, searching his face, letting his words sink in. “If not for him, then what?”
“Oh, to hell with it,” he snorted, and stalked back through the adjoining door to his room. Before he closed it, he shot her a blazing look and stated plaintively, “We're leaving soon for the airport in case you're interested.”
Like a zombie, Rochelle rolled off the bed, went to the bathroom, brushed her hair, repaired her makeup, and walked out of the room into a sunless morning filled with dark clouds that threatened rain. She saw the five men waiting outside, standing by the two cars looking at her, and then turning their attention to Michael as he stepped from his room.
She knew she was supposed to smile, to be the super human person who could smile when there was nothing in the world to smile about, to be like a hostess greeting her guests; but somehow, for the moment, it all escaped her, and she could only be what she felt, alone, lonely, and discarded. She mastered a distant stare as she entered the car. Michael slid in beside her, and the two of them were like two lifeless statues, once human, but now turned to stone.
THEY BOARDED THE PLANE, a quiet group, for sure. Neither of them said anything, and Rochelle turned her head to the window, watching the banks of white clouds swallow the plane when it became airborne.
“Chelle,” Michael said, reaching for her hand.
She snatched it away and pretended he wasn't there, continuing to stare out the window.
“Please don't tune me out. I'm trying to get past this.”
He spoke in a whisper to prevent the others from hearing.
She turned and locked gazes with him. “What is it you're trying to get past, Michael?”
“I'm trying to put some meaning behind all these prickly feelings I've been having. This is not about you. It's about me,” he spoke quietly.
“I see. You are having prickly feelings. Well, I am sorry to hear about your prickly feelings, Michael. I sympathize with your distress.”
“You just don't understand.”
They both whispered despite the continual buzz of the plane engine that scrambled what they and the others were saying.
Michael's tone was solemn with regret, while Rochelle's was angry, bitter, and contrary.
“You're right. I do not understand. I do not understand why you came nearly three thousand miles to rescue me from a horrible marriage when you obviously cannot decide why you did it. I do not understand how you could declare love for me in your letters, but lose your nerve when you are face to face with me. I do not understand how you can make love to me in a motel room and then run away as though I were no more than a mere convenience.
There's much I don't understand, Michael, and you haven't attempted to enlighten me.”
“Chelle, I know you don't deserve this. I'm really screwed up, and every time I try to sort things out, I get more screwed up.”
“Is there some hidden message in all that mishmash of words, Michael? I don't know what you are talking about, and frankly, I am too upset to play word games. If you have something to say, just come right out and say it, else do us both a favor and let it drop altogether.”
“To hell with it!” he cursed. Then in a raised voice, he continued. “You have no idea what I've been through since that son of a bitch took you away.”
“And you have no idea what I've been through, Michael. You have no idea at all what my life with Tobias has been like. You have no idea how much I yearned to die every time I thought I would never see you again.”
Clearing her throat, she continued. “I was a fool. Tobias taught me the lesson of all lessons. He taught me how to distrust, and I was the biggest fool of all for trusting you.”
A low groan escaped his lips. He glanced around to see if anyone had heard, then he shook his head in frustration. “You know I love you, else why would I risk all our lives to come get you?”
She was thoughtful, but still defensive. “Love is supposed to make people happy, Michael, not tear them apart. How can you love me and treat me like a stranger? I have lived with that sort of contempt for five long years, and I cannot do it anymore. To answer your question, I'm beginning to wonder exactly why you did come and get me.”
“What is it you want of me, Chelle? What in the hell do you expect?”
“The fact that you even have to ask that question is answer enough that you and I made a terrible mistake. Don't trouble yourself any further. I will make no demands upon you. I just want to live in peace without having to fear everyday that life is just one more miserable burden to have to face.”
“You still don't understand, do you? You have no idea the hell I have gone through thinking of you in his arms, him kissing you, him touching you, him making love to you. How can you sleep with any man and not respond? How can you make yourself like a cold piece of ice and not feel some desire or need strong enough to cause you to participate, to make you seek fulfillment for yourself? And how can you expect me to believe you were non-responsive?”
“God, Michael,” she said, her lips curling up into a venomous contortion of disgust. “How can you even conceive such a thing? If you had any idea the hell Tobias has put me through in his bed, you'd be crawling on your knees with remorse and apology.”
“Then tell me, assure me that what I'm thinking is rubbish. Help me overcome this green sickness, Chelle, so we can get back to where we were before he came for you.”
She gritted her teeth. “How dare you to even ask me to bear the responsibility for your sick thoughts! Just leave me alone. Go back to Caroline. She's better able to give without receiving than I am. I won't be the scapegoat for your jealousy, not after the hell I've lived through with Tobias.”
She turned away from him and refused to acknowledge his presence. Watching the white, fluffy banks of clouds sliding past her window made her drowsy and sleepy, and finally she closed her eyes and gave in to the tiredness that was more emotional than physical.
Michael watched her golden-red curls tumbling over her shoulders in a soft array of warm color. He reached and pushed a satiny tendril from her cheek, and watched as she stirred slightly beneath his touch. Her gorgeous complexion looked like a mixture of cream and honey, and without thinking, he bent and dusted a tiny kiss upon her brow.
It seemed everyone on the plane was sleeping now. A silence descended over all, and only the loudness of his thoughts provided company for Michael.
A sudden loud burst of coughing behind them brought Rochelle struggling up from sleep. Sitting up straight, she looked about to get her bearings, and then rubbed her eyes with her fists.
She turned toward Michael, wanting to ask him how long the flight would take them. “Michael...” she began, and watched with shock as he sloughed her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“Just let it go,” he said, thinking she was about to continue the conversation where they left off. “Just leave me alone,” he added quietly, his face pale and drawn against an inky dark beard.
She turned away from him, seeing the ghosts of torment that could tear them apart for all time. Twice in less than two days, he turned away from her. Just leave me alone, he said. She could feel the breach growing wider just as surely as if a raging river had torn a bridge from its moorings leaving an impassable gap.
Tucking her legs beneath her and turning as far away from him as she could, she nursed her concerns by hiding her face against a pillow.
AFTER THEIR PLANE LANDED and they were in the terminal, Michael turned to the five men, shaking each of their hands.
“Fellows, you're on your own now. See me at the bank tomorrow afternoon.”
Then shaking hands with each of them as Michael had done, Rochelle thanked them. “Thanks for everything,” was all she said, and the men nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
Following a few exchanges of idle repartee with them, Michael turned to go. He hustled Rochelle to a waiting cab. He opened the door and bid her enter, crawling in behind her, quickly giving the driver their destination. Their ride was in silence.
When they arrived in front of the senior Matheson's home, Rochelle allowed Michael to help her from the cab. Asking the cab driver to wait, he walked her to the door, opened it and handed her the key while he flicked on lights in the foyer and outside on the wide stoop. Streetlights lit the sidewalk and driveway where the taxi waited.
Michael guided Rochelle inside to the security panel in the foyer where he pushed some buttons to stop its beeping. He jotted down the code for disarming it, and the setup code just in case she might have forgotten it, and gave it to her.
“Keep the alarm on at all times, Rochelle, and keep the doors locked.” Turning on his heels, he stalked away quickly, leaving Rochelle standing at the door looking after him. Before the car was out of sight, she saw him glance back once at her, his face contorted by the reflections of the streetlights on the glass, and then he turned his head and looked straight ahead as the cab sped away.
Rochelle stumbled blindly inside. The huge house felt like a mausoleum filled with ghosts. It haunted her memories against happier times spent there before Tobias showed up to destroy the peaceful lifestyle she had attained.
From the foot of the stairs in the foyer she looked through the open double doors to the dining room. Walking inside the room, she touched the light switch. Her attention sped to the place where Michael had fallen the night Tobias shot him. She walked to the spot, kneeling where she had seen him fall, rubbing her hand across the carpet tenderly where pale stains of blood remained even after the cleaning Tillie must have done. She pushed herself to her knees, recalling how happy they were on that night that now seemed a lifetime ago. Things happen, and people change, she thought.
Obviously, Michael had changed a great deal.
With slow deliberation, she turned the stairway light on and started up the stairs. Her life suddenly felt as empty as this huge old house. She could not stay here. She knew she couldn't. Without Michael in her life, the house held too many memories, both good and bad, and she just didn't have the strength to handle it.
At the top of the stairs, she turned down the hallway to her bedroom, flooding the room with light at the flick of a switch.
Nothing was disturbed. Everything was just as she had left it, even her purse on the bureau. She opened it, found her car keys and house key. There was money in her wallet. Michael had brought her checkbook from downstairs where she had been balancing it on the night Tobias came. He must have put it in her purse for safekeeping; or Tillie had.
Tossing off her clothing, she flung the wrinkled mess aside and went to the shower. She spent a good thirty minutes letting the water flow over her in splintery streams. She wanted to cry, but felt too numb to do so. An emptiness invaded her, much like she'd always felt with Tobias, and remembering back to that first day she met Michael, she now wished she had never gotten involved with him.
The pain of losing him was too big a price to pay.
When she stepped from the shower, the soft towel felt good against her skin. She slid on a terry cloth robe. Glancing at the clock, she was tempted to just lie down and try to sleep, but her mind was working so frantically that sleep would be hours away. As she made her way back downstairs, the phone began ringing loudly while, at the same time, the doorbell chimed impatiently. She was nearer the door than the phone, so she called out, “Who's there?”
“Sweetpea, it's me, Mabel. Let me in.”
Rochelle quickly turned off the alarm, and opened the door.
“Oh, Mabel,” she said, throwing herself into Mabel's plump arms.
“I'm so glad to see you.”
“There, there, now,” Mabel said, patting her back. “Maybe you should answer your phone.”
Rochelle turned just as it stopped ringing. Then with a shrug, she asked Mabel, “How did you know I was back?”
“Mikey called and told me.”
“I can't stay here, Mabel.”
“Can't or don't want to?”
“I don't want to stay here anymore. I'm going to the motel.”
“I tell you what, Sweetpea, go pack your bag and come home with me. Tillie stayed with me for a while, but she is living at her sister's house. I have an empty bedroom you can use and tomorrow you can decide what you want to do.”
Rochelle nodded her head, ran back up the stairs to dress and pack a bag. She was back downstairs in a matter of minutes.
Turning all the lights out, except the foyer and the outside lights, she set the alarm and left with Mabel just as the phone started ringing again.