The Spirit Woman by Margaret Coel Page B

staying.
    â€œDid you really think you could get away from me?” Toby threw her the indulgent smile that he bestowed whenever she’d disappointed him. She knew his face by heart: the hint of amusement behind the dark eyes, the flare of nostrils in the long, perfectly shaped nose, the way his mouth began to move before he spoke.
    â€œJust like you, Laura, to land in a place like this. Efficient and cheap.” His gaze flitted from the shabby bedspread to the dresser and television with a formation of airplanes floating across the screen. The announcer’s voice droned above the roar of engines. He took off the ski jacket and threw it onto the bed next to her coat. His muscles rippled through the fabric of his navy-blue shirt, and a wisp of brown hair poked into the V of his opened collar.
    â€œHardly worthy of you, sweetheart,” he said. “You deserve a penthouse overlooking Central Park, roses in the foyer, a roaring fire in the fireplace, and champagne chilled on a marble table. You deserve the world, Laura. You’re beautiful.”
    Laura braced herself against the door. “Why are you here, Toby?”
    â€œI’m dying without you, sweetheart.” As he started toward her she slid along the door, wincing as the knob dug into her spine. He stopped. “Can you try to imagine for one moment, one moment, Laura, how miserable I’ve been? I’ve lost my appetite, can’t sleep. I’m an automaton up there in front of my classes, mouthing words. I don’t even know what I’m teaching.”
    He wagged a finger at her, as if she were a student who’d missed the main point of a lecture. “I haven’t been able to write, Laura. Not one word on my new novel. I thought you understood it’s my most important work yet.” The finger moving, moving. “You’re responsible.”
    Laura fought against the impulse to apologize, assure him that he was a great writer. He must finish the novel. The role she usually played in a scene they had enacted—how many times in the last year?
    She stepped past him and clicked off the television. In the mirror she caught his image, hands dangling helplessly at his sides. If he touched her, she feared she would be lost. “It was always about you, Toby,” she managed.
    â€œIt’s about us. We belong together, Laura. You’re the sun in my sky, the air I breathe. I need you. Give me another chance. Give us another chance.”
    Laura turned slowly. “I gave us enough chances.”
    â€œIt’ll be different this time.” Light reflecting through the faux Tiffany shade gave his face the soft, languorous look she’d seen when she’d turned to him in the middle of the night. “I’m seeing a therapist,” he said. “I’ve had some real breakthroughs. I understand where the rage comes from. Mother, the enabler, and Dad, that SOB. Don’t you see? I’ve simply displaced the rage onto you. Now that I understand, I’ll be able to control it.”
    Suddenly he dropped to his knees. “Please, Laura.”
    â€œWhat are you doing?” She had to stifle a laugh. He looked like a clown, walking toward her on his knees.
    â€œBegging you, Laura. Come back to me.” He wrapped his arms around her legs and started to lift her into the air. “I adore you. I need you.”
    â€œStop it, Toby.” She pushed at his head. The thick softness of his hair flowed through her fingers; his breath was warm against her thigh. She jerked herself free.
    â€œWe’ll stay together, you and I.” He was still on his knees. “Walk to classes, write, make dinner, go to bed. You and I, Laura, just like before.”
    â€œIt’s over between us, Toby.” Laura could hear the waviness in her voice. Her breath burned in her chest. “I’m going on with my life and my own work. I have a meeting tomorrow with a man who may be able to get me