She didn’t want to wait. She cupped his neck with her hands and moved beneath him. With a smile and relief she realized his control wasn’t as strong as he had pretended. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her back, beginning slow sure thrusts.
In those excruciating final seconds filled with fear and anticipation, he finally cried her name.
Afterward she lay in his arms, shuddering against him. As she calmed she realized she was embracing him with a death grip, afraid he would dissolve and disappear, as he had so many times in her dreams. Although he didn’t know about her recurring nightmare, he slid his arms around her and whispered, “It’s all right, Bethany. I’m right here.”
She sighed in acknowledgement and stroked his cheek. If there were no words of love, that was only what she’d expected. Justin was still Justin, and love, if it came again for him, would only come gradually. For now what they had found here was almost enough.
He released her just long enough to pull the patchwork quilt over them as protection against the night’s humid chill. Wrapped securely in his arms, with her head on his shoulder and the warmth of his body against hers, they drifted off to sleep in a warm cocoon entirely of their own making.
* * *
SHE HAD NO idea how tired she was, or how deeply she’d slept, until a tentative tapping on the French doors woke her, and she realized sun was streaming through the windows. “Just a minute, Abby,” she said with a yawn. Her hand thrown out in a stretch contacted empty space, and she remembered the details of the night before. Eyes wide open now, she looked up to find Justin standing over her with her T-shirt and panties in his hands.
“Better put these on before I let her in.” He grinned, his eyes traveling everywhere that was exposed by the forgotten quilt. He was wearing only the pants of his running suit, and she felt a familiar warmth course through her. But now was not the right time for those thoughts. As she jumped up and threw on the clothes Justin had dropped into her lap the pounding on the door increased.
“I thought I heard you talking, Justin.” The little girl looked at her parents, who were both sitting with pretended nonchalance on the bed. Bethany was trying to recall what women’s magazines advised their readers to do in a situation like this. But before she could venture an explanation, Abby leaped across the room and jumped on the bed between them. “This is neat. Mommy’s never had a man in her bed before.”
Bethany sputtered helplessly, while Justin laughed. “Out of the mouths of babes,” she muttered finally, picking the running suit off the floor and pulling on the pants. “I’m going to take a shower.”
For once the water was hot, and it washed away all traces of embarrassment. She lathered her hair with shampoo, letting the water complete the journey into another working day. When she had finished she toweled off, and after wrapping herself in a blue chenille robe, she shouted for Justin to come and take advantage of the hot water.
“Was Abby right?” he asked as they passed in the doorway. “Was that the first time a man has ever been in your bed?”
“You know the answer to that one,” she said, pointed chin in the air. “And you’d better be careful, or I’m going to start asking about your love life.”
“Enough said,” he conceded with a grin. “Case closed.”
The morning was entirely too much of a landmark to celebrate with cold cereal. With Abby’s help, Bethany chopped enough onions, green pepper, tomatoes and boiled shrimp to fill a large omelet. She set water on the stove for the mandatory grits and measured coffee with chicory into her coffeepot. When Justin emerged from the shower a few minutes later, the apartment was filled with the mouthwatering fragrance of a Creole breakfast.
Justin, with his hair damp and tiny drops of water clinging to his bare chest, was more devastating than she even remembered. Her tongue flickered lightly over her lips, and she wanted to bury her face in the curling hair and savor each diamond drop of water. Instead she turned away and said casually, “Milk in your coffee?”
“Are you going to live here now, Justin?” Abby asked as they lingered over breakfast.
Bethany observed him through lowered lashes. For once it was nice to have Abby address her embarrassing questions to someone else.
“I can’t, honey. This place isn’t big enough for another person.”
“Maybe if you were smaller,” Abby said. She brightened up noticeably as she thought of a new possibility. “Maybe we could all move. Then you could live with us like a real daddy does.”
Bethany didn’t look at him because she knew exactly what she would see. If she didn’t know better she would think that Justin had enlisted her daughter to convince her to move into the house he had bought for them.
“Abby,” she said, “your daddy has to live in another part of the country because that’s where his job is. He’ll have to go back soon, but you’ll be able to visit him sometimes, and he’ll visit you here whenever he can.”
“No,” Abby answered firmly, her eyes suddenly impassive. “If he goes away, I’m not going to visit him. Not ever.”
Bethany tried for a change of subject. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do today— “
“Bethany,” Justin silenced her. He faced his daughter, and he placed fingers firmly under the little girl’s chin. “Now listen,” he said in a soft voice that even the child could tell meant business. “I’m your father. Do you understand what that means? It means you’ll do exactly what I tell you to. I’m never going to lose you again. Whether you like it or not, you’re my daughter, and we’re never going to forget that.”
It was the first time in Abby’s life anyone had spoken to her in such an uncompromising fashion, and she was absolutely speechless. Finally two big tears trickled down her cheeks, and her mouth, which had been open in an incredulous moue, snapped shut. A heavy silence hung over the table as Bethany rose to begin clearing off the plates. Abby’s words stopped her.
“I guess you really are my daddy,” she said with a lingering trace of defiance. “Only daddies are that mean.”
Bethany gasped, but Justin understood, and he held out his arms to his daughter, who came into them with no reluctance. “A real daddy has to be mean sometimes,” he acknowledged. “But I love you very much.”
“As much as you love mommy?” she wheedled.
“Different,” he said without missing a beat. “Very different.”
The little girl needed some time to think about that, and she sat quietly for a few moments. “Justin, maybe I can call you daddy someday,” she said finally.
Bethany, with tears in her eyes, carried the dishes into the kitchen and spent twice as much time as she needed to wash them, so that the two most important people in her life had a chance to be alone.
As if understanding that Bethany, Justin and their daughter needed time together, Madeline banged on the apartment door later in the morning and announced that she and Valerie would mind the store. Although the rest of New Orleans was restricted under blue laws, French Quarter shops were exempt, and Life’s Illusions was open on Sundays throughout the carnival season. It was an extra burden, but the income from some of the thousands of tourists who flocked into town made it worthwhile. Today it was a treat for Bethany not to have to stand behind the counter.
“Let’s take that French Quarter tour today,” Justin suggested. “When was the last time you two rode in a buggy?”
“Never,” Abby shouted. The little girl had always longed to ride in one of the fringed buggies pulled by mules or horses with absurdly decorated hats.
“I told you, Justin,” Bethany said wryly. “My tour was free.”
“I’d like to take you to St. Louis Cathedral for mass first thing, if you’ll come,” he suggested.
“I’m not sure they’ll let you inside in that get up.”
Justin left for home to change his clothes, and Bethany dressed in a blue silk blouse and skirt she had bought along with the red dress. The color matched her eyes, and while she had been emb
arrassed by her attack of vanity, it hadn’t stopped her. Abby wore a hand-smocked pinafore of white batiste that Madeline had put many loving hours into.
When Justin returned he had changed into a softly striped gray suit, made less formal by a pale-yellow shirt and no tie. His tanned throat was visible under the two buttonholes he had left undone, and Bethany was entranced.
She had forgotten head coverings, and the beautiful cathedral, the oldest in North America, deserved them. They walked across Jackson Square, and Justin, signaling one of the pushcart vendors, bought headbands of silk and dried flowers for both females. They slipped silently into a pew in the back, and Bethany watched as the timeless drama of the Roman Catholic mass unfolded before them.
It was a revelation of sorts to see Justin caught up in his own unabashed participation. Bethany knew, as she watched, that when the inevitable decision about Abby’s religious training surfaced, she would let Justin have his way.
Afterward they walked back across the square, stopping to look at the portrait artists. As they watched a good one put the finishing touches on her work, Justin pulled a bill from his pocket and insisted that Bethany and Abby pose.
“It will take too long,” Bethany remonstrated.
“Do it for me,” he answered.
The woman worked quickly, and Abby, fascinated, sat as still as a New Orleans summer afternoon. By the time they were finally allowed to move, a crowd had gathered to ooh and ahh over the finished work, which captured Abby’s vitality and Bethany’s shining eyes and delighted smile.
“It reminds me of the one you did for me in Tallahassee,” Justin said as he carefully carried the portrait, protected in cardboard.
“Do you still remember that?”
“I still have it,” he said. “It hangs on my bedroom wall in Chicago.”
Nothing he had said or done in their weeks together had touched her more. Now she envisioned the new portrait hanging beside the old one, and she wondered how the images would make his Chicago women feel. With a twinge of spite she hoped it would make them feel terrible.
The buggy trip was lively as Abby made best friends with their driver, a N’Awlins native who told them tales about the city that were so farfetched they had to be true. After they finished in front of Jackson Square, they crossed the street for coffee and beignets at the famous Café du Monde. They climbed onto the Moonwalk again, this time to watch the riverboats with their cheerfully out-of-tune calliopes, and Justin promised Abby that soon he would take her on a steamboat ride.
When they stopped to buy po’boys at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on St. Ann Street on the way back to the apartment, Bethany assumed they would be eating lunch in her living room. But Justin had other ideas.
“I know you’re not going to like this, but I thought this might be a good time to show Abby my house,” he said quietly to Bethany as Abby skipped ahead of them.
“I’m sorry, your mother’s house? She’s been there more than once already.”
“My house. The one I bought.”
“The one you probably haven’t closed on and can still get out of buying?”
“I’m keeping it.”
This wasn’t a day to fight, but neither was it a day to let Justin do whatever he wanted with her future. “I would love to know why.”
“I’ll be flying back and forth to see Abby. . .” He glanced down at her and seemed surprised to see she was staring up at him, her gaze unflinching. “I’ll need a place to stay, and a place where she can hang out with me.”
“And your mother’s house doesn’t meet those criteria?”
“It’s not exactly private.”
“You need privacy? If you need to escape for a while from that horrifying prison on St. Charles, you could take Abby for a walk, or ride on the streetcar.”
“I like the idea of having my own house here. A place she can call home.”
“She has a home.”
“She won’t be the only child in the world with two.”
“I don’t buy this. How long before you make another attempt to move us both into the house, lock, stock and feathers in the outdoor studio?”
“Am I the only one who doesn’t get a say in what I do with my life?”
She looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry I never got to see you in a courtroom.”
“You would be impressed.”
“Or depressed, because now I have to deal with the same kind of arguments and there’s no judge to intervene.”
“Let’s just take her and have a picnic in the backyard. I’ll explain about the house then.”
She tried to imagine how Abby would react. “She’s not going to understand. The house looks so empty. Four-year-olds have a difficult time imagining changes.”
“I don’t think you need to worry. . .” Justin’s voice trailed off.
She knew she couldn’t find a way out of the trip, because he was right. She really had no say in what he bought and why. She shrugged her consent. “But please don’t enlist our daughter against me.”
“Not in a million years.” He was smiling now, and as wonderful as his smiles made her feel, she was sure Justin knew that he wouldn’t have to lift a finger to make Abby fall in love with the house.
The ride was pleasant enough, even with Abby’s insistence that they beep their horn at the green streetcar that ran down the St. Charles neutral ground, which was the New Orleans term for a median strip. When they pulled in front of the “cottage,” Abby was already pressing her nose against the car window, eyeing a group of little girls in a neighboring yard playing with a soccer ball.
Justin had yet to explain the house to his daughter, and Bethany had fully expected Abby to be bewildered, but with the magical acceptance of all preschoolers, she didn’t seem to give it a thought. Bethany, however, was astounded. When Justin unlocked the front door, the formerly empty house was filled with furniture.
Wandering through the rooms, she ran her fingertips over the finely polished wood of antique tables, a contemporary sofa, comfortable overstuffed chairs and a cherry roll top desk that ached for an old-fashioned inkwell and quill. There was a mixture of different furniture styles in each room, but interestingly enough, everything fit together in eclectic harmony.
“Your mother has been here,” she said finally, after touring most of the downstairs in silence.
“Some of these things have been in my family for generations. We have more up in the St. Charles attic, too, and my mother just added the bare bones here for a start. If you want to help me figure out the rest of it, she would love your input.”
To Bethany, the house already had more furniture than she had expected to acquire in a lifetime. “I’ll bet your mother had a wonderful time doing this. She should continue without interference.”
“Still, if you don’t like some of the things. . .”
“I know what you’re doing. What I like doesn’t matter, remember?”
“Come see the bedroom.” They walked through the hallway, empty of all decoration, and Justin paused. “My mother thought this would be a wonderful place to hang masks. Sort of a gallery effect.”
“Lots of options, but no feathers.”
“I know a mask maker who can probably create any kind of mask if it suits her.”
Without answering she followed Justin through the hall until they came to the bedroom. Abby followed, too, exploring as she went, although she was still oblivious to whose house this was.
The master bedroom was large enough to hold Bethany’s entire apartment. There was no bed, and she wondered if Justin had told his mother that she had a bed she would want to keep. If so he had apparently described her bed in detail, because all the furnishings in the room were made from the same dark mahogany and were suited to go with it. It was all so much to her liking that she had to admit it. “It’s beautiful.”
“This room doesn’t have a bed, Justin. Where do these people sleep?” Abby was beginning to notice the peculiarities of the house.
“There will be a bed soon, honey. Come on, there’s another room I want you to see especially.”
They followed him up the stairs to the two smaller bedrooms, and Bethany was glad to see that Justin had taken her advice and furnished the room with the sailing ships for Abby. There was a heavy oak double bed with matching chest and vanity that was wonderfully old-fashioned and in keeping with the simple nautical theme. Bright-red curtains hung at the window, and a red plush throw rug covered the shining wood floor. A cabinet had been installed against one wall, and on one shelf sat a beautiful china doll that was probably as old as anything else in the house. Bethany guessed that the doll had once belonged to Louise and later to Marie.
“Do you like it, Abby?” Justin asked.
The little girl nodded solemnly, eyes wide with longing. “Does somebody live in this room?”
“Somebody is going to.” Justin explained very carefully that the house now belonged to him, and that after Mardi Gras, he planned to move in.
“Isn’t that when you go away, Justin?” Even Justin’s new house couldn’t erase the upcoming parting from the little girl’s mind.
“I’m not sure,” he said, and Bethany knew he was trying to preserve the moment’s happiness. There would be better times to tell Abby the truth.
As they sat in the shady backyard eating their picnic lunch it would have been easy to forget that Justin was moving back to Chicago, because he seemed in his element here, relaxed and happy. As they watched Abby climb the ladder into the tree house in the old magnolia it would have been easy to pretend they were going to live here together, because Justin had become such an integral part of their lives.
“You’ll think some more about moving here?” he asked as they watched their daughter play happily. “Whenever you’re ready?”
“I thought you needed a place all your own.”
He answered by kissing her. And for the moment, that was enough of an answer for both of them.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Unmasking Page 21