Against All Odds. Gwynne Forster
pleasure at receiving her mother’s call had ebbed. Her parents took every opportunity to boast of her brother’s accomplishments. She hoped she wasn’t being unfair, but if they boasted about her, she hadn’t heard about it.
* * *
Melissa’s status within her family was far from her thoughts while she roamed the museum with Adam. She could have done without many of the paintings, she decided, but an hour among them was a small price to pay for a stroll with Adam in the sculpture garden. She had to struggle not to betray her response when he slung an arm around her shoulder as they stood and looked at a Henry Moore figure, splayed his long fingers at her back as they walked, and held her hand while he leaned casually against a post, gazing at her with piercing intensity—letting her see that his plans for them included far greater intimacy than hand-holding. She had to conclude that Adam Roundtree was a thorough man, that he left nothing to chance. He’d said he wanted to find out if there could be anything between them, and he clearly meant it. He was also stacking the odds. He might need proof, but she knew they had the basis for a fiery relationship, and he couldn’t want that anymore than she did, but he was in a different position. He was head of his family, and his folks might not try to censor him as hers surely would, but she couldn’t believe he’d be willing to drag up those ancient hatreds.
Adam let his gaze roam over Melissa. Her wide yellow skirt billowed in the breeze, and he could see the outline of her bra beneath her knitted blouse. Her softly feminine casual wear appealed to him, made her body more accessible to his touch, his hands. He grasped her arm lightly. “I’ve got a friend in Westchester I’d like you to meet. Come with me.” He sensed her reluctance before she spoke.
“I have to be home early—I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”
“Come with me,” he urged, his voice softer, lower. Persuasive. “Come with me.” He watched her eyelids flutter before she squinted at him and insisted that she should go home. He knew she wanted to escape the intimacy between them, but he was determined to prolong it.
“I’ll take you home early. Come with me.”
She went.
* * *
They boarded the train minutes before its departure. Melissa didn’t know what to make of Adam’s mood, and his invitation to join him in a visit with a friend perplexed her. She was certain that he hadn’t planned for them to go to Westchester when he’d called her that morning.
“Are we going to visit one of your relatives?”
Adam draped his right ankle across his left knee and leaned back in his seat. “If that were the case, Melissa, I’d warn you. I would never spring a member of my family on you unexpectedly, and I think you know that. Winterflower is a very special friend. You’ll like her. She has an aura of peace about her that’s refreshing—the best preparation for the Monday morning rat race that anybody could want. I go up to see her as often as I can.”
“How old is she?” She could see that the question amused him.
“Oh, around fifty or fifty-five, I’d say. But I could be way off—I don’t make a habit of asking women their age.”
“I got the impression from what you said a minute ago that she’s different. Is she?”
“In a way. Yes. Winterflower doesn’t fight the world, Melissa—she embraces it.” He shrugged elaborately. “Flower defies description...you have to experience her.” So he had a tonic for the New York rat race after all, she mused, pleased that the woman wasn’t his lover.
* * *
A tall Native American woman of about fifty greeted them with a natural warmth. Adam introduced them, and Melissa liked her at once.
“What are you two doing together?” she asked Adam before telling him, “Never mind, it will work itself out. But you’ll both hurt a lot before it does.”
Melissa watched, perplexed, as Adam hugged the woman and then admonished her. “Now, Flower, I do not want to know about the rough roads and slippery pebbles ahead, as you like to put it. You told me about them three months ago.”
The woman’s benevolent smile was comforting, though her words were not. “You’re just coming to them.” Melissa had a strong sense of disquiet as Flower turned to her and extended her hand. “It’s good that you are not as skeptical as Adam is. You complement him well.”
Adam snorted. “Flower, for heaven’s sake!”
Flower held her hands up, palms out, as though swearing innocence. “Alright. Alright. That’s all—I’m not saying anything else.”
They walked around the back of the house to the large garden and seated themselves in the white wooden chairs. Adam moved away from the two women and turned toward the sharp decline that marked the end of Winterflower’s property, impatiently knocking his closed right fist against the palm of his left hand. He didn’t need Winterflower or anyone else to tell him that Melissa was well suited to him, that she could be his match. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. Independent, self-possessed, and vulnerable. He didn’t turn around—he was vulnerable himself right then, and he’d as soon she didn’t know it.
Winterflower served a light supper. The late, low-lying sun filtered through the trees, tracing intricate patterns on them, patterns that moved with the soft breeze and seemed to cast a spell over the threesome, for they ate quietly.
* * *
Melissa spoke. “Are you clairvoyant, Flower?”
Winterflower nodded. “I see what chooses to appear. Nothing more.” Melissa nodded. Not in understanding, but acceptance.
“Why were you surprised to see Adam and me together?” She thought her skin crawled while she waited for what was without doubt a reluctant reply.
“I’ve been associating the two of you with the end of the year.” Winterflower nodded toward Adam, who frowned. He may not agree, Melissa decided, but he didn’t suggest that the woman’s words were foolish, either.
Winterflower’s soft voice reached Adam as if coming from a long distance, intruding in his thoughts. “How is Bill Henry?”
Adam shifted in his chair, aware that her mind was again on the metaphysical. “He’s well enough, I suppose. I haven’t been home to Beaver Ridge recently, and I haven’t spoken with him by phone since I last saw you.”
“You will learn something from him,” she told Adam. “He has taught himself patience, and he has stopped racing through life. Now he has time to reflect, and soon his heart will be overflowing with joy.” She looked from one to the other, nodded, and relaxed as though affirming the inevitable. “And he is not the only one.” Then she turned to Melissa. “Ask Adam to bring you back to see me.”
Adam stood and hugged his friend. “See you again before too long.” Melissa shook hands with Flower and thanked her.
“You’re very quiet, Melissa,” he said, as they trudged downhill toward the train station. “Was I mistaken in bringing you to visit Flower?”
“No. I’m glad you did.” She appeared to pick her words carefully. “You seemed different with her.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “Melissa, I expect everybody’s different around her. She’s so totally noncombative, so peaceful. Life-giving. Sometimes I think of her as being like penicillin for a virus.”
“But she’s also unsettling.”
He slid an arm across her shoulder and drew her closer. “That’s because you were fighting her good vibes.”
“Oh, come on!” she said, and he thwarted her attempt to move away by tugging her closer.
“Now, you’re fighting my vibes.”
“Adam,” she chided, “you could use a little less self-confidence.”
He squeezed