Sheila stood on her toes and kissed him three times, one on each cheek and a loud smacking one right in the middle of his forehead.
An hour later, Peter returned to his room from the shower tightening the towel around his waist to find Tara waiting on the edge of his bed. She was wearing a long, elaborate nightgown covered with ruffles, flowers, and bows.
“What on earth do you have on?”
“It’s your mother’s. I thought it was just too ‘happenin’. Do you think she knows we sleep together and she made me wear this to keep you away from me?”
Peter laughed. “That would certainly do the trick.”
“Shut up, Peter.”
“My mother’s always lived in denial. It keeps her innocence alive.”
“Well, I think she’s a doll. Also love your father and sister! How much did you say your dad used to earn? How about your sister—I bet chiropractors make a bundle.”
“I’d better kiss you good-night, then.” Peter looked around for his pajamas.
Tara pouted. “Well, excuse me. I thought you were going to sneak into my room.”
He shrugged into his pajama shirt and frowned. “Tara. It’s my parents’ house. I think my mother would take it as a bit of an insult to her hospitality. Besides, this isn’t a house to have sex in.” He made a face for her, to lighten the rejection. “This is a room to dream about having sex in. This is my coming-of-age room.”
Tara looked around at the 1960s oak twin bed with matching end tables and Frank Zappa and Jefferson Airplane posters on the wall. “It’s totally bizarre, you know. It’s as if no one ever set foot in here.”
“My mother doesn’t like changing things, that’s all. She’s still hoping Amy and I will come home and we’ll all pick up where we left off when we were ten.”
Tara pulled her arms in and shuddered slightly, but after a moment she smiled. “I don’t want to leave.”
Peter pretended to misunderstand. “Because of my parents?”
“No.” Tara shook her head. “Because tonight, with your family, you looked so fab. You came away from talking to your father’s friend looking utterly—happy. I haven’t seen you like that for ages. Only a few days ago I was ready to give you the speech. You know, the I’m-calling-the-whole-thing-off speech.”
Peter choked. “Why are you saying that?”
“I thought you’d checked out on me. I knew you weren’t exactly invested in the whole wedding thing, but I had hopes about our relationship. That’s actually why I met with my mom and my aunts, to discuss my doubts. Or should I say your doubts. But watching you tonight, how thrilled you were—I knew I made the right decision about sticking with it. Jake’s not so stupid after all.”
Peter looked at Tara. For a moment, as she sat in her childlike guilelessness on his bed in his mother’s nightgown, he thought he could be completely honest with her, to tell her what he truly felt. But before he could speak she stood and pressed herself against him. One hand pushed the door shut, and the other pulled off his towel.
“No, Tara!” He whispered as she touched him, kissing his neck.
“Why not? Let’s pretend we’re thirteen.” She licked his face.
“Stop it!” he said forcefully. He pushed her away and picked up his towel to cover himself.
“Fine. I get it.”
“I’m sorry, Tara, I can’t. Not in my childhood room, and not in my parents’ house.”
Tara stared at him. He could see in her eyes he had offended her, but he couldn’t explain. He kissed her gently and, a moment later, closed the bedroom door behind her.
Chapter 7
Consumed
1965
An empty picnic basket sat near a small cooler with a half-empty bottle of wine, and two glasses lay on their sides among a straw hat, towels, and a small camera. The sun shone down brilliantly on the beach where Peter sat on the plaid blanket behind Madeline, staring at the ocean.
He wore only a denim shirt over his swim trunks, and his dark hair blew in his face when he reached for the last grapes in the basket. His legs wrapped around her waist as she leaned against his chest, and her chocolate brown hair hung over his arms. Her body was lean and her legs long and toned as she rubbed them against his. She tipped her head back so he could look into her hazel eyes with their tiny specks of green.
His hands on her were large and strong, rough from manual labor, and his dark hair slipped over his shoulders to her face. His dimples creased when he smiled, slightly covered by the suggestion of a faint mustache and beard. “My Maddy.” He beat a soft rhythm on her bare knees.
She touched his puka shell necklace and laid her cheek on the leather bracelet around his wrist. “Nobody calls me that but you.”
“That’s why I do it.”
He reached out for the camera and pulled her toward him. She turned in his arms and smiled into the camera, and the two tiny crinkles appeared over her nose as he snapped the picture.
“Why do you keep taking pictures of me?” Maddy said.
“I need something to look at when you’re not here.”
“That sounds a bit crazy. Should I be worried?”
“Behave yourself.” Peter grabbed her face with both hands and pressed his against hers so that she laughed out loud. She sat up but then stretched her neck back suddenly. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment.
She put her hands to her temples. ”No, no,” she whispered. “Not today.”
“What is it?” Peter touched her cheek.
“I just feel a headache coming on. I don’t want anything to ruin this moment. They have been coming on more frequently these days.”
“Let me.” Peter laid both hands gently over hers on her temples and massaged her temples. He leaned in and kissed her on top of the head, then slid over to kiss her on the forehead. “I’ll just have to keep kissing you until it goes away.”
“I like that idea.” She smiled and closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead and temples.
“Maddy, Maddy, Maddy,” he sang quietly over her head. “The light of my life.”
Seagulls cried overhead, the waves crashed in the distance, and she closed her eyes and relaxed her slight weight into his arms. He rubbed her temples tenderly in little circles as she gradually grew heavier and more limp.
Later as she lay drowsing by his side, Peter carefully picked up his guitar. He bent over it, touching the strings, whispering lyrics from Peter Paul and Mary. She moved slightly as he sang.
“Hey, you up?” He nudged her.
“Yes,” Maddy answered sleepily.
“I kissed your face, and you didn’t react.”
“I’m sorry. You know my weakness for guitar-playing hippies.”
“Hippie?” The creases in his cheeks deepened with his smile. “How’s your headache?”
“I’m fine.” Maddy turned and took the guitar from his hands. She sat directly in front of him so they faced one another with their legs entwined, looked up at his face, and kissed his chin. Peter laughed. He put his hands around her neck, and she closed her eyes.
“God, I love you,” she whispered.
He pulled her face close to his, and she opened her eyes. He pressed his lips to each cheek, each ear, and each eye.
She smiled and caressed his face, staring as though trying to memorize him. “You always kiss in twos.”
“I don’t want either side of you to get jealous.”
“You’re nuts.” Maddy laughed. “Oh, Peter. I always want to remember this moment.”
He wrapped his arms tightly around her. “We’re going to have many moments like this. You don’t have to worry. If I have it my way—which I will—we’ll never be without moments like this ever again.” He turned on his stomach on the blanket, and she sat up and played with his hair, running her fingers through it to make it fall
softly against his shoulders.
She began to poke him. “Hey, Mister,” she said in a high voice. “Tell me something.”
“Ouch! Maybe if you stop doing that.” He turned over, and she straddled his waist. He put his hands on her hips, looking up into her face.
“Tell me where you see us in thirty years.” Maddy laid her hands on his bare chest, her hair hanging down in soft, chocolate-colored waves over her arms.
“That’s a random number. Why thirty?”
“I don’t know. I just thought of it. Answer the question, please, Mister.”
“I see us together, of course.”
She smiled and nudged him with a knee, dangling her curling hair in his face.
“In thirty years I foresee we will be living in Boston, married, with two kids.”
“Two kids?” She laughed.
“Maybe three.”
“Hold on a second. I’m going to be working, a successful career woman, you know.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.” Peter smiled and put his hand to her lips. “You asked me, and I’m answering.” He paused for a second. “I see us coming to the beach with the kids on the weekend and sailing our boat.”
Maddy made a curious face.
“Yes. We’ll buy an old schooner, not too big, but big enough to take weekend trips into Nantucket or the Vineyard. When the kids are in bed we can make love on the deck, fall asleep in each other’s arms, and wake as the sun comes up.”
“Wow. You have a great imagination. Maybe a bit dirty, but great.”
“Who’s imagining? It will happen.” He sat up, and his tone grew serious as he touched her face. “Don’t you know how much I love you, Maddy?”
“Feel free to explain.” She blushed.
“When I come home from spending a day with you I can’t concentrate on anything else. I love to smell my shirt because it has your scent, the sensation of your body on mine.”
“What do I smell like?”
“I can’t exactly explain it. It’s you. A bit of sweetness, like honeysuckle on a cool evening and maybe a bit of lavender. It’s so odd. I can be reading or watching television and suddenly get a whiff of you, and I start looking around, and I realize the smell is coming from my shirt. I hold it and smell it, and if I close my eyes I can almost imagine you’re there with me.”
“I think you need help, Mister.”
“No, you need help, Missy, so stop calling me Mister. I love to hear you say my name. It does something to me.”
“Whenever we have a fight, I’m just going to say it, ‘Peter, Peter, Peter,’ and you’ll stop talking, and I will win every argument.”
“Sad but true.”
Maddy pushed him back down on the blanket and lay on top of him, her bathing suit pressed against his swim trunks and her hands stroking his long hair. The beach was empty now, and the tide’s ebb was slowly edging close to their blanket.
“So?” She gently bit his bottom lip. “Tell me how much you love me. You asked if I knew how much, but you really haven’t told me, other than you smelling your shirt—which, by the way, is kind of weird. I’d like to know.”
“You would?”
“Yes, I would.” She put her ear close to his mouth.
He gave her a small kiss on the ear and whispered into it. “When I hold you, like this, like I’m doing now—” He stopped for a moment. He pulled back and took her face in his hands so she could look at him, his eyes fixed on hers.
He closed his eyes and rested his head on the sand, feeling consumed. There was the sound of waves hitting the rocks and sea gulls crying to each other with their evening calls. “When I’m away from you, Maddy, I feel as if I’m missing part of myself. I hear your name everywhere, and I think I see you wherever I go. Even when I know where you are, I’m looking for you. I walk around with an ache in my chest, and the more I think about you the stronger it gets.” When he opened his eyes, tears were rolling down his cheeks.
“You’ve got it bad, haven’t you, Mister?”
“Come here, you.” Peter pulled her close in his arms, rolled over, and lay on top of her. Neither spoke. At first it was a gentle exchange of touching and caressing, teasing with glances and kisses, but their lovemaking quickly became intense and emotionally charged. There was a sudden burst of laughter, then tears, then clinging as though it would be too painful for them to ever part again.
Then it was one heart beating, two heartbeats in perfect sync.
Chapter 8
Pieces
1985
Thursday morning arrived, and Peter was waiting in Mayor Fleming’s waiting room. He didn’t care if he appeared anxious. He just wanted to make sure he was on time. He yawned, watching secretaries enter the building. He’d managed to get only forty-five minutes of sleep all night.
The elevator doors opened, and Bill Torres walked out with Tim Ryan. “Peter, were you waiting long?” Bill asked.
“Just got here.”
“You remember Tim Ryan?”
“Of course.”
Peter and Tim shook hands and followed Bill into the conference room.
Peter laid his plans and presentation out on the table, fumbling as he watched Tim and Bill. Bill laughed out loud and patted Tim on the arm, strangely familiar for having met just a few days earlier.
“Are you ready, Peter?” Bill asked.
“Is Tim presenting, too?”
“Actually, I invited him to sit in on the meeting. I thought having another architect would be insightful. That is, if it’s okay with you.”
“No problem.”
“Whenever you’re ready then.”
Peter spoke for more than an hour. He asked Bill to compare Mayor Fleming’s plans with the original plans for the library site, and Bill and Tim watched closely as he measured the dimensions of the annex and discussed how much more space it used. Peter brought out a letter from the Zoning Adjustor verifying that his designs were, indeed, within the legal perimeters of the historical site.
“You’ll be hearing from our office, Peter,” Bill said when he was done. “But don’t get discouraged if the Committee votes against it. Historical Societies can be a bitch.”
“The Historical Society? I thought it was just the Mayor’s Committee.”
“Mayor Fleming’s office is required to include three people from the Historical Society to sit in with the Mayor and me to form a Committee for building projects like this. They can out-vote us, but it takes all three. They frequently disagree with each other.” Bill shook Peter’s hand. “Before I forget, do you have your Statement of Intent?”
“Sure.” Peter looked through his folders and pulled out a thick legal-size envelope.
Bill felt it and smiled. “We will be in touch, Peter.”
Tim waited until Bill left before he approached Peter. “That was easy.”
Peter laughed. “Thanks for coming, Tim. I appreciate it, even though you’re up for the same job.”
“I’m a professional, as I see you are, and I want to support my fellow adversary. Seriously, Peter, good work in there. I wish you well.”
“In general, or with this project?”
“Okay, maybe not with that so much.” Tim winked.
Peter carried his paper cup of coffee across the sidewalk toward the entrance to the Wentworth Building where Jake waited.
“What happened to Rob Lowe?” Peter nodded at Jake’s new haircut.
“Turns out Amanda’s more into Miami Vice. Sonny doesn’t have a mullet.”
Peter laughed. “Jake, I’m sorry I was a jerk about it.”
“Don’t worry. I never take anything you say seriously. How did it go this morning at the Mayor’s office?”
Peter led Jake inside and into an empty elevator. “I honestly don’t know.” He reached around Jake and pushed
the elevator button. “Bill Torres told me not to get discouraged if the Historical Society votes against me.”
“Bummer.”
“I know. Right? So I’m going to prepare myself for the worst. I don’t want to think about it.” Peter was concentrating on the luminous numbers over the elevator door.
“How did the engagement party go?”
“Good. I spoke to Mr. Grant.” Peter nodded.
“Grant?” Jake braced himself on the rails that ran around the elevator. “Old Ernie G from the corner of Pine street?”
“The very one. After a few questions he divulged quite a bit.” Peter glanced at Jake. “I found out where Maddy lives.”
Jake dropped from the rails. “You’re joking me.”
“At least Maddy’s parents. But he said Maddy isn’t far from them. Colorado.”
“So you’re at your engagement party finding out about Maddy?” Jake said. “You’re out of your ever-lovin’ mind! Why Colorado?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say anything else, other than after all these years they still exchange Christmas cards.” Peter smiled at his secretary as the elevator doors slid open and they crossed the lobby toward his glass-walled office.
“You didn’t find out what she’s doing there?”
“Bits and pieces.” Peter shook his head. “She’s living not too far from her parents, teaching in some elite school of some kind. Her sister’s married and has children, but he didn’t say anything more about Maddy.”
“Don’t you think if she had a child he would have said something?”
Peter closed his office door after Jake and turned to him. “I don’t know but—” Peter froze. “What did you just say?”
“Don’t you think he would have said something?”
“No.” Peter stared at Jake. “You said, ‘if Madeline had a child.’”
“And your point is?” Jake leaned against the corner of the desk and swung his foot, rattling a pen against the desktop.
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