by Jan O'Hara
“Oh, my darling girl,” Avis said, “we’re not going there.”
“No?” Page’s voice came out with a tremor.
“Are you going to shun us now you know the truth?” Mavis’s tone implied confidence in Page’s open-mindedness, but there was the tiniest hint of vulnerability about her eyes.
“Of course not,” Oliver said.
“No,” burst from Page simultaneously.
“Well, then, that’s all that matters,” Mavis said.
“You saw what we wanted you to see. Acting chops, remember?” Avis thumped her chest, making Page laugh.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing,” Avis said. “We’ve been at this deception a long time. We got pretty good at it.”
Mavis fussed over the covers on the bed. She went on to describe how the two had bonded over their first names and shared birthday in kindergarten, in Lesser Slave Lake.
Over the years, they had moved from being close friends, to lovers and then, ten years ago, to spouses. They had come out to their families a few years back, and it hadn’t gone well, which was why they’d chosen to maintain their sisterly cover at the retirement village.
“Will you tell your families about taking ill?” Page asked.
Mavis and Avis looked at one another.
“We haven’t decided,” Avis said. “But we’ll tell Danielle.”
“Of course,” Page said with a smile.
“What is going on?” Oliver asked. “Do we know yet?”
A spasm of pain crossed Mavis’s face but she rallied with a catch in her voice. “It’s bowel cancer. Terminal. They’re arranging for a medical transfer to Calgary in an hour or so.”
“I get to ride in the back of an ambulance,” Avis said with a grin. She twirled a finger in the air in a lackluster imitation of a party favor. “Whoo-ee.”
“What will they do there?” Oliver asked Mavis.
“Her bowels are blocked. She needs to have surgery or she’ll stay in trouble, like she was this afternoon.”
Avis pulled a face. “That’s not a whoo-ee, in case you wondered. It means I’ll wake up with a bag on my side.”
“The latest in fashion accessories,” Mavis said, patting her arm.
“Paste a few sequins on and it’ll match your sparkly shirt,” Oliver said.
“All the best drama teachers will want one,” Page said, and then she could feel her face crumpling—the easy banter, the knowledge she was about to lose it, the reality of everything…it was suddenly too much. Page felt Oliver’s hands settle gently on her shoulders as she fought the sudden spurt of tears.
“Dang.” Page laughed self-consciously. “I haven’t cried in eight years. And I’m going to stop right now.” She brushed away the moisture on her face.
“Oh, my darling girl, come here,” Avis said, holding out her arms.
Page thought she had been meant to give Avis another hug, but somehow she ended up being pulled onto her back, onto the stretcher alongside Avis, smooshed between her and Mavis, who remained in her chair but draped herself across Page, probably only because the bed wouldn’t accommodate three.
For a while, as Oliver’s eyes glistened suspiciously and he shifted his feet, Page let herself be held, let Avis stroke her hair, let the tears come. Then she motioned to Mavis, who passed the tissue box. Page blew her nose loudly before settling back on the pillows. She stared at a water stain on the ceiling, feeling unaccountably at peace.
“Well, now, this brings back memories,” Page said. Had it only been five days ago when she’d awoken between the two women and been grateful to be alive? And here another one of them was facing death. It defied comprehension.
Oliver moved to sit on the spot Page had vacated on the stretcher.
Page suddenly gasped and clapped her hands to her cheeks as she twisted her head between Avis and Mavis. “I’m such a dillweed! That argument you were having when I woke up, when you were discussing my pubic hair?” A gurgle of laughter escaped. “Takes on a whole different meaning right now.”
“I miss all the good conversations,” Oliver drawled.
“You’ve got the whole rest of your life for racy pursuits,” Avis said, looking meaningfully between Oliver and Page. “For that, I’m profoundly grateful. Speaking of which, I might not have reached Mexico, but this trip turned out a million times better than I expected. That’s in good part because of you, Oliver.”
“Amen,” said Mavis.
“He’s a good guy,” Page said.
The best, said the little voice.
“’Tweren’t nothing,” he said, his cheeks turning a ruddy color, his own voice on the hoarse side.
“Aw, he’s got to be a manly-man,” Avis said with affectionate tones in a stage whisper to Mavis. “Isn’t he cute, struggling with the weight of all that contained emotion? If I had you as a student,” she said, wagging a finger at Oliver, “I could have helped you with that. Taught you how to emote.” She kissed Page on the head. “Get up, Page. It’s Oliver’s turn.” She beckoned to him. “Come here, dear boy. I’ve got some advice for you.”
“Is this where you tell me the meaning of life?” he said, but he moved to obey.
Avis’s eyes twinkled as she grasped his head and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.
Page’s throat tightened, the sight of the two heads together, Oliver’s, bowed yet willing, nearly her undoing again.
When Avis was finished, the two of them shared a long moment of eye contact, then he squeezed her hands and stood.
Avis suddenly looked exhausted. She shifted in the bed and nodded as Mavis looked inquiringly at the call bell and pressed it. “Page, two words for you: stop running. And no more stowaway behavior. Promise me.”
Page held up a hand. “I swear.”
“Now I’m going to kick you out so I can rest,” Avis said. “The nausea kept me from sleeping the last few nights.”
Mavis walked them to the door.
“Are you going to be okay?” Page asked.
Mavis’s smile was a thin press of lips. “For sixty-three years she’s been my best friend, my lover, and my confidant. She’ll leave a gaping hole. But yes, I will be. Eventually.”
Then she gave them one last hug and turned, a solitary figure off to face a loved one’s challenge with grace and dignity.
Could there be anything more heroic? Page wondered, and slipped her hand into Oliver’s.
Chapter 21
There were times when life exposed and confirmed your character flaws in all their humbling glory, Oliver decided.
His particular sin had to be that of self-absorption. While his mind should be occupied with Avis’s health—and it was to a large degree—another part of him was feeling antsy from sitting around in the hospital. Yet another part kept flashing back to what he’d been doing with Page immediately before Avis blew her whistle.
Add the sin of lust to his many failings.
Since the hospital wasn’t far from the hotel, he suggested they walk to clear the cobwebs from their brains. Thankfully Page was in full agreement.
At the gas station, instead of following the most direct route back, he tugged her onto the walking trails Teague had shown them the night before.
Page left her hand in his as they wandered. “I can’t believe we’re leaving in a little over a day and I’m only just seeing this,” she said, pointing out a gazebo up ahead, high in the hills.
Harmony Creek was frozen over in most places. But here and there, through dark cracks in the snow and ice, you could hear the music of running water, and a light mist curled and danced. In one such picturesque location, they found a wooden bench out of the wind.
Oliver settled on it with a sigh.
“Better?” Page smiled at him in the moonlight. Along the path she had found a leathery leaf still affixed to a poplar. Her fingers played with it, smoothing and stroking.
“Much. I hate hospitals,” he said with feeling, unable to tear his gaze from her hands.
“I don’t know why, but I always forget you were injured.”
Wish I could, he thought. But in a way it was nice to hear his insecurities weren’t glaringly obvious to others. And so when she asked about what he’d gone through, procedure-wise, he laid it out in cold, dispassionate terms: waking up from his concussion to find he was blind in his left eye, the laser surgeries to try and tack his retina in place, the gel injections designed to keep it there, the lethal combination of fear and boredom while he waited for the results.
In the past, talking about this stuff made his skin crawl and his floaters worsen—which, okay, proved his ophthalmologist’s point that some of his ongoing problems were psychological. Tonight, though, in Page’s company beside the winding creek, the medical stories felt distant. Almost like they had happened to another person.
Meanwhile, Page looked offended on his behalf. She tilted her head to regard him, her hair striped more silver than blue in the moonlight. “Poor baby.”
She said it in a way that sounded sincere rather than patronizing, which was nice. When she tossed away the leaf and shifted to straddle him, that was even nicer.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
“What are you up to?” he asked, hoping it was no good.
He slipped his hands to her waist and let his eyelids fall. He felt her angle forward. His glasses were removed. Then her lips pressed to his left eyelid and forehead in a gentle kiss of benediction. He smiled as she settled her hands on his shoulders and leaned back, rocking their hips together more solidly.
“There,” she pronounced when he opened his eyes.
“Did I mention my pulled groin?”
She threw back her head and laughed, hauled him to his feet. “For that, we’re going to need privacy.”
“Yeah?”
Her smile was both mysterious and sexy. “Yeah.”
Apparently he’d found a partner with a matching sin-profile.
At the back of the hotel, a refrigerated truck had pulled up to the cargo door. The driver was outside, smoking a cigarette. He nodded to them as they showed their keycards and slipped inside, finding themselves in the basement of the Thurston.
Oliver put his hands on Page’s waist and hustled her down the corridor, towards the elevator.
She giggled at his urgency.
He knew he was grinning like a loon—a fact confirmed by his reflection in the elevator mirror when they stepped inside the car. He punched the button for his floor and seized her jacket, yanking her to him as the doors slid closed.
Her eyebrows went up. “Why, Mr. Pike, you’re so masterful.”
He was about to prove her point with his point when the elevator doors slid open again. They were still on the basement floor.
“Mr. Pike, Ms. Maddux,” Gill said with a dignified nod as they pulled apart and moved to the side. He entered with a trolley, and the elevator filled with the scents of garlic and rosemary.
Gill pressed the button for the third floor and studiously faced the front while Page bit her lip and fought a smile.
“How were the seniors, Gill?” Page asked.
“Not bad, on the whole,” Gill said. “A few of the ladies got into a tussle over Mr. Dubois, but we separated them.”
Oliver had spoken to Wendy not an hour ago, but he was relieved to see Gill winking at him via his reflection in the elevator door.
Page clearly hadn’t discovered Gill’s comedic side. She froze in the act of tidying her hair. “Was anybody hurt?”
“Doc said the bruises should fade with time,” Gill said.
“Encouraging,” Oliver said.
“Did they damage anything in the hotel?” Page said, looking suitably horrified.
“Mr. Pike’s pocketbook will recover. Eventually.”
Oliver saw the moment she caught on that her leg was being pulled. She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at them both.
The next moment, the doors slid open at the lobby level. From Oliver’s vantage point, it appeared vacant, but Page gasped and poked her head out the door. “I think I saw Mr. Lee.”
Oliver shook his head. It was the worst fake-out he’d ever seen. He sent a lazy arm out to reel Page in and tucked her against his side. I have plans for you, he said with his eyes. Aloud he said, “Mr. Lee’s on his own at the border. We didn’t need him anyway.”
She tilted her chin. “I can see you’ll make an incredible father.”
“Yeah?” Oliver grinned at her. “Up for practice on the conception part?”
“Aaand I’m grateful this is my floor,” Gill said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. His back was very straight as he exited, pushing the cart. “Goodnight, folks.”
“You embarrassed him,” Page accused as soon as they were alone again, but her eyes were laughing.
They had finally reached his floor and Oliver hastened Page along to his room.
“He works in a hotel. He’s seen worse,” Oliver said, thinking of Ben’s story about the hotel’s gym equipment. “But I’ll apologize tomorrow, when I can think straight.”
“Why, Mr. Pike, whatever is wrong with you?” She batted her eyelashes.
He tapped his temple. “Brain damage, remember? I’m hoping to try a novel cure.”
That set her back on her heels. “Novel?”
He used the keycard to open his door and nudged her inside. “As in, hasn’t been attempted since my injury.”
Now her smile had vanished. “You have medical clearance for this, right?”
“Of course.” For over a year, though that hadn’t stopped him from worrying, and he hadn’t met anyone—until Page, that was—who tempted him to fight through the anxiety. Something said she’d be worth the fight.
“Well, then,” she said, as he pointedly put out the Do Not Disturb sign and locked the door. “Now I’m a little nervous.”
“Come here, A Little Nervous,” he said softly, dangerously. He kicked off his boots and dropped his coat to the floor, stalking towards her, making short work of removing her jacket.
She swallowed. “Ha ha. Funny—”
That’s as far as he let her get, because while he normally prided himself on being a gentlemanly lover, there was only so much a man could take. The kissing earlier in the woods—two woods!—the tension in the hospital, the eons of celibacy, the sexiness of her humor. He was cracking speedier than a fastball off a bat’s sweet spot.
He dove in first for a kiss, and when they were both breathless, hooked a finger in the neck of her sweater, easing it down slowly. Beginning at the line of her collarbone, he kissed and nuzzled his way up her throat, until he reached the perfumed area behind her ear. He loved the way her breath caught, the ragged sighs. Her scent made him dizzy.
“Vanilla and citrus,” he murmured against her skin.
She shivered. “What?” Her lips looked bee-stung and her gaze was unfocused. Her hands were knotted in his hair. “This is a strange time to talk about pudding.”
“No, I meant—” He smiled. “Never mind.”
He kissed her again and walked her backward to the bed, coming up for air when another step would have toppled her. Another kiss while he slid a hand under her sweater to trace her spine. He slowly rotated them until their positions were reversed, and the back of his knees pressed against the mattress.
Her skin was smooth, hot, and driving him crazy, but a tiny part of him wanted to open his eyes and check his vision. Shut up, he told that tiny part. I’m busy right now.
He sat on the bed and pulled her between his legs as she worked to take off his sweater.
“Oh, my,” she said, running her hands over his chest. “I knew you had a body under your clothes, but I knew it in a theoretical sense. You—”
“Page.” His throat was thick but he had to get this out. “Confession time. I’m a little nervous. Do you mind driving this first shift, so I can take it easy?”
The only light illuminating the suite was at the doorway. With her face in shadow,
he couldn’t tell whether she understood, or if she’d taken offense.
She leaned forward into the light and her lips were curved in a wicked smile. “Okay if I take it hard?”
He let go his breath. “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”
And just like that, with her permission to be worried, he stopped.
He pulled off the sweater they’d picked out together at the thrift store. He divested her of her bra, after noticing it was covered with purple daisies that were so Page, somehow, they made him smile. He filled his hands with warm, round flesh. He closed his eyes. Who needed vision, anyway, when there was so much sensation to enjoy? And he rolled her under him with a swiftness that made her laugh.
Sometime later, she said, “Oliver?”
“Hmmm?” He lifted his head from her breast. “I’ve been taught not to talk with my mouth full.”
Her smile held the tinge of sadness. She ran a finger around his ear. “Should we feel guilty for doing this? With all Avis is going through, I mean.”
Though it nearly killed him, he pulled back. “Nah. She gave us permission, remember? In fact, she practically ordered us to have sex. It’s our duty.”
She laughed and held his gaze. “For Avis, then.”
“For Avis,” he said with a smile, and kissed her lips. He shifted down her body, pressing his lips to the flesh of her belly as he descended. He had just enough time to see her panties were a solid purple before she grabbed his ears and yanked his head up.
“Oliver?” She was gratifyingly breathless.
“Uh-huh?” He pressed a kiss to her mound.
Her eyes crossed. “This one’s for Avis,” she said in a throaty voice. “But the next one’s for me.”
He smiled and shook his head at her. “I like your approach.”
And then he forgot about his eye, forgot about his head, forgot about everything except losing himself in her.
* * *
✽
Sometime later, Oliver lay on his back. He was sated, replete, boneless. He turned his head to regard Page.
She lay face down on the bed, her skin glistening, her face covered by her hair, which stirred as she gave a lusty sigh.