Changes 1/4

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Changes
By T. L. Odell
Part 1/4
See Part 0 for Disclaimers

Seacouver, 2008

Duncan MacLeod pulled himself away from Tessa.  The bed
creaked.  He heard her regular breathing, saw her hair glowing in
the reflected moonlight.  She looked at peace.  He also was fairly
certain she was feigning sleep.  Their lovemaking had been
perfunctory; she hadn't been satisfied, but she obviously didn't
want anything more from him--again.  *Considering the way we
acted right after the wedding, I guess I can understand,* he
thought.  *But it's not like Tessa to hide from me.*  He sighed and
drifted into a troubled sleep.

Tessa Noel MacLeod was still asleep when Duncan awoke the next
morning.  Slipping quietly out of bed, he headed for the kitchen to
make her breakfast.  He mixed up the ingredients for the apple
pancakes she loved, and as he pulled the whistling kettle off the
stove to make the coffee, he sensed her entering the kitchen.  She
stood by the table in her robe, her blonde hair unruly from sleep.

"Good morning, Tess.  Did you sleep all right?"  he asked as he
poured the water over the freshly ground coffee.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she responded, irritation
apparent in her tone.

"Nothing … I just thought that since it's Sunday, and you've been
getting up early every day to work on your new sculpture, and you
were still asleep at eight-thirty … " he broke it off.  "Anyway, I
thought I'd make you some breakfast.  Apple pancakes."

"Oh, so you don't think I'm capable of making breakfast?"  Tessa
squeezed behind Duncan and pushed the plunger on the French
press.

"Of course you are, I just thought I'd surprise you."  He strove to
keep his voice calm and level, and didn't mention the fact that she'd
barely given the coffee any time at all to brew.  This was not the
first time Tessa had reacted in a totally new and unexpected
fashion to a seemingly commonplace household event.  He avoided
looking at her; he'd already learned that could set her off when one
of her moods struck.  But he did hear her deep intake of breath.

"I'm sorry.  I guess it's the stress from getting this commission
finished on schedule.  I haven't done a sculpture like this in such a
long time, and I really want it to be perfect.  I would love some
apple pancakes."  She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down
at the table.

Duncan turned back to his pancakes and began ladling batter onto
the griddle, watching as they bubbled up.  The sweet smell of
apples filled the kitchen.

"You didn't sneak any of your Scottish oatmeal into those, did
you?" asked Tessa.

He heard the lightness as she spoke this time.  "Not a single oat.  I
swear it," he replied.

"Tessa, I have to go out of town soon," he said, setting the platter
of pancakes onto the table.  "There's a series of estate sales in the
Charlotte area.  Would you like to come along?"

"When?" she asked.  "I'm still pretty tied up with this sculpture,
you know."  The lightness in her voice had shifted to guarded
neutrality.

"I'll probably leave Wednesday, be back by the following Tuesday.
We could extend the trip if you wanted to do some sightseeing."

"Not a good time.  Thanks, but I'll pass.  I won't be far enough
along on Wednesday to be able to leave."

"Are you sure?  I'd love to have your company,"  Duncan said.

Her eyes darkened.  "Are you sure you just don't want me home all
by myself?  You don't think I can manage?  I might burn myself on
the blowtorch, or cut myself with a chisel, and I won't heal the way
you do?"

"Tess, no.  Of course not.  I know you're totally competent.  I just
thought-never mind."  Duncan stopped talking.  He could see no
way out of this; Tessa had gone back into what he could only hope
was her "stressed out temperamental artist mode" and no matter
what he said now would just make things worse.  "More syrup?"
he said with as much boyish charm as he could muster.  She didn't
seem to hear him.

"Maybe I'll call Cecile," said Tessa.  "She feels terrible about
having missed the wedding and wants to get together.  I've only
seen her a couple of times since she came after the shooting."  Her
hands automatically fingered the scars on her chest.  "And it's
probably best that you're not around.  She's known you as long as I
have; she's bound to wonder why you still look so good."

Duncan tried to ignore the hint of bitterness, or maybe it was
sadness.  "That sounds like a wonderful idea.  You two always
have a great time."

"Thanks for the breakfast.  I have to call Cecile and then get back
to work."  She left the table, her pancakes half-finished.

Duncan shook his head, finished his breakfast, then picked up the
dirty dishes and went back into the kitchen.  At least they had
avoided a full blown confrontation over nothing.  Once she
reached the point in her work when everything came together, she
would be her old self again.  He hoped.  In the meanwhile, he'd
bite his tongue and try to stay out of her way as much as possible.

***
Early Wednesday morning.

Tessa padded barefoot back and forth across the dark apartment in
her silk nightgown.  Another night of interrupted sleep.  And
another argument with Duncan.  What had she snapped at him
about this time?  Something trivial, something that had never
bothered her before, that much she knew.  She remembered the
words "temperamental artist" and "stubborn Scot" being used a lot.
She walked until the knots in her stomach loosened, and the
twitching feeling in her limbs stopped enough so she could sit
down and relax on the couch.  A shadow moving caught her
attention.  She looked up to see Duncan watching her.

"What are you doing out of bed at two a.m.?" asked Duncan,
concern showing through the sleepiness in his face.  "Are you all
right?"

"I'm fine.  I couldn't sleep and thought I'd move around for a bit. I
didn't want my tossing and turning to wake you."  *Please, just go
back to bed and leave me alone for a few minutes,*  she thought.

"I can think of a way to help you get back to sleep," replied the tall
Scot, his half grin made even more impish by his sleep-tousled
hair.

"I'm sure you can, Mac, but I'm not ready to come to bed just yet.
Please go on back; I'll be there in a little while."

"Suit yourself," he said, hesitating only a brief moment before
turning back to the bedroom.

Tessa couldn't be sure if he sounded disappointed or hurt.  She
loved Duncan unconditionally.  On her fiftieth birthday just a little
over a month ago, he had proposed.  They had been married the
next day, and they had behaved like newlyweds even though they
had been together for almost thirty years.  Now, she felt that she
had lost her grip on being in her fifties and married to a man who
didn't look a day over thirty-five.  No matter that he was almost
four hundred years her senior, as a couple, she had become the
"older woman."

The sleeplessness didn't help.  She woke up hot.  Her brain went
into overdrive.  By the time she cooled off, she had a million
things running around in her head, keeping sleep at bay.
Sometimes, like tonight, her whole body seemed to be filled with a
crawling sensation, and if she didn't move, she'd scream.  As soon
as she turned over to try to get comfortable, she'd get hot again,
and the cycle would repeat itself.  Walking around the apartment
seemed to be the only thing that would calm her down.

*Duncan must know something's wrong.  He's being very
tolerant.*   Go to him, she heard a voice in her head say.  Then the
stranger who had invaded her body of late took over.  *He's a man.
He thinks sex is the solution to everything.  He's frozen in time at
thirty; you're dealing with fifty.  What does he know?  Let him
sleep alone tonight.  It won't kill him.*

Tessa tiptoed back into the bedroom, careful not to disturb her
sleeping husband, and grabbed her robe and the book by her
bedside.  She saw his perfectly formed body draped by the sheets,
heard his gentle snoring.  Tears welled up in her eyes.  She blinked
them away.  If she read for a while, maybe she'd sleep until
morning.

At eleven o'clock in the morning, Tessa  sat on the couch, still in
her robe, a pint of double chocolate fudge ice cream softening to
just the right eating consistency on the table beside her.  She
looked up from reading her torrid romance novel.  Duncan stood
there in brown slacks, a beige turtleneck and sport coat, his face
showing concern.  "Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked.  "I
could postpone the trip, or try to handle it long distance."

"No, Duncan.  I told you I'd be just fine.  You go ahead and do
whatever you have to do at those estate sales in Charleston."

"Charlotte," Duncan corrected.

"Charleston, Charlotte, what's the difference?  Call when you get
there and let me know you arrived safely.  Besides, I have plans
with Cecile.  She'll only be in town a few days.  You know I've
been looking forward to this "girl time."  She made a concerted
effort to keep both her expression and tone neutral.

Duncan bent over to kiss her goodbye.  She turned her face up to
meet his and accepted his kiss and "I love you," but responded
without passion.  She really wanted to say, "Just go, get out, and
leave me alone," although for the life of her she didn't know why.

"I'll call you tonight," he said as he walked out the door.

She checked the consistency of the ice cream.  Perfect.  She picked
up the carton and dipped out a large spoonful, turning the spoon
over before putting it in her mouth so that she tasted just the
creamy, rich, cold chocolate, and not the metallic spoon.  She
allowed the ice cream to take over her entire being for that
moment.  Five bites later, she resolutely returned the carton to the
freezer.  *There just aren't enough hours in the day to work off an
entire carton any more,* she thought.  *Damn that middle-aged
metabolism slow down.*

She picked up the novel, read a few pages, and then threw it across
the room.  *Why am I reading this trash?  I don't even like it.*
Without warning, she burst into tears.  Angry at herself for crying,
she cried even harder.  Eventually the tears stopped; she wiped her
face and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

Tessa adjusted the showerhead to the strongest spray possible and
let the water beat over her, as if it could pound away whatever was
making her so miserable.  As she dressed, she thought of Cecile.
They had become friends in school in France when they were
twelve years old, and had stayed together through college.  Cecile
had married an American a few years after graduation and moved
to the States, to the Chicago suburbs.  Although they had parted
after college, whenever they got together, any intervening years
turned to minutes.

Later that afternoon, Tessa put the finishing touches on her
makeup, checked the guestroom one last time, then set out for the
airport to meet Cecile's plane.  When she got there, the parking lot
was almost full.  She fought to control her mounting anxiety while
she circled the lot looking for an empty space.  She finally found a
family dragging luggage to a van.  She sat, drumming her fingers
on the steering wheel, while they loaded all their suitcases, got the
kids buckled in, adjusted the mirrors, and at last pulled out of the
slot so she could claim it.

End of Part 1

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