by Elaine Fox
“Yeah?” came the curt reply.
“Word of advice.” Gerald smiled chummily. “Beware of Doug.”
Three
They had dined at Bistro Bethem and walked down the street to Hyperion Espresso on the corner for a late-night decaf. Lily felt like spinning around and singing “I Feel Pretty,” strolling in her sundress with her tall, handsome man by her side.
Gerald had been lovely over dinner, as usual, keeping the conversation lively and chatting amiably with the waitstaff. Not only did he look good—she loved the way he was just old enough to have crow’s-feet next to his eyes when he smiled, and one deep dimple on the right when he smiled—but he’d chosen the wine like an expert, ordered the most gourmet items on the menu, and even encouraged her to try the oyster appetizer—which she found she almost liked. She also thought it must be a good sign of things to come. Did a man order oysters and encourage his date to try one if he didn’t have aphrodisiacs and their effects on his mind?
At Hyperion they both ordered decaf lattes and went outside to sit at one of the sidewalk tables.
“Lily, I have never enjoyed a date so much,” Gerald said, holding out her chair for her while she sat. He moved around the table and folded his tall frame into the one across from her. His suit, she noted, was still neatly pressed, despite the fact that they’d sat for over two hours in the restaurant. “I keep thinking we won’t be able to top the last date, and yet we always do. There’s something about you that makes me feel…comfortable.”
Lily beamed over her coffee cup, holding it in both hands after blowing across the steaming top. “I feel the same way. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you transferred from the West Coast office.”
“Well, that was, as they say, a no-brainer.” He chuckled at the silly vernacular. “I had had enough of the West. I’m an East Coaster through and through.”
“That surprises me,” she said. “It’s so beautiful out there. What didn’t you like about California?”
“Oh, California is beautiful, I’ll grant you that. It’s just that everyone is so casual. I’m afraid I prefer a bit more decorum in my professional life. As well as in many aspects of my personal life.” He chuckled again, wryly. “Which no doubt makes me sound like a pompous jerk.”
She shook her head, smiling. “Not at all.”
In fact, it only confirmed her impression that he was the incarnation of her beloved Mr. Knightley.
Lily put her cup back in the saucer and took a deep breath. “Gerald, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I’m a little nervous about it.”
Gerald looked concerned and leaned slightly toward her. “nervous? Lily, you know you can tell me anything.”
She smiled grimly and looked down at her coffee. “I know. It’s just, this is kind of personal, and you never know how people are going to react to these things.”
He reached out and took her hand, pulling it up from her lap and onto the narrow bistro table. “Then let’s hold hands while you tell me. That way you’ll know we’re in it together, whatever it is.”
She looked up at him, tears unexpectedly stinging the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away. He was absolutely the sweetest man she’d ever known.
“It’s nothing horrible,” she hedged, knowing she should just spit it out before he began to think she had some kind of venereal disease. “It’s just…I was married. Before. A long time ago.”
“Yes?” He nodded, encouraging.
A little bubble of laughter escaped her. “That’s really it. I guess I thought the fact might be more…unexpected. It is to me sometimes; it was so long ago. You see, I was a junior in college, and I suppose I was going through some kind of rebellion against my father.”
Gerald tilted his head, his eyes twinkling. “That’s certainly understandable. I can’t imagine growing up with the imposing Jordan Tyler for a father. He must have ruled the house with an iron fist, as they say.”
She smiled, feeling more relaxed by the minute. “That he did. And I was desperate to get out from under it. So I went off and married my high-school boyfriend. He was—is still, I believe—a”—she cleared her throat and looked at the table; Gerald’s fingers squeezed hers—“a plumber. A plumber’s assistant, really. Daddy was shocked. Appalled. And he stopped speaking to me.”
Gerald continued to nod, looking concerned for her but not the least bit upset. “That was quite clever really,” he said, when she paused. “Plumbers are handy fellows to have around.”
She laughed, relieved that he was so unaffected he could lighten the mood for her.
“We only stayed together about a year,” she continued. “It was never meant to be, of course. We were divorced eighteen months after the wedding—which was just a quick civil ceremony at the city hall—and I honestly don’t ever think about it anymore. In fact, it hardly qualifies as a marriage in my mind. Just a youthful relationship that went bad, as most of them did.”
“How long was it before your father started speaking to you again?” Gerald asked.
“Oh, God…” She raised her eyes to the tree branches overhead and calculated. “About a year after the divorce, I guess. It was almost three years altogether that he didn’t speak to me.”
“How did it come about? Did he apologize for abandoning you?” Gerald lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed her fingers along his lips as he waited for her answer.
Lily’s heart pounded hard, every nerve alive with the intimate touch. She loved that he called her father’s actions “abandonment.”
“I contacted him,” she said. “I told him I wanted to go to graduate school to become a teacher, and I’d appreciate his cosigning the loan. I knew he would approve and think I was back on the straight and narrow, and he did.”
“Had you told him you’d divorced the plumber—what was his name?” Gerald’s eyes were calm, kind, and interested.
“Duane. Duane McCall. I’m not sure my father ever even knew his name. He just always called him the Plumber, as if that said it all about how mistaken the marriage was.” She laughed. “It certainly said everything about why Daddy disapproved.”
Gerald smiled and shook his head, his eyes warm on hers. “You know, Lily,” he said after a minute, “I truly admire you.”
Lily’s heart caught in her throat. “You do?”
“Yes,” he said, squeezing her hand again. “That took a lot of courage, to do what you did.”
“What, the marriage or the divorce?”
“Both. The whole episode. It took quite a bit of bravery to disobey your father like that. And a bit more to make up with him.”
“It might have taken some nerve,” she said doubtfully, “but not much intelligence.”
“No, it was courage. You made some tough decisions and did what you had to do. I admire that kind of strength.”
Lily looked at their clasped hands. “Well, thank you. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re not upset.”
Gerald leaned back, the look on his face scandalized. “Upset? Why in the world would I be upset? You’ve had some life experience. I like that in a woman. I want that in a woman,” he added significantly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
She blushed. Her father never made her feel anything but ashamed when the subject of her first marriage came up. It was no coincidence that it only came up when he was displeased with her about something and wanted her to feel ashamed. Not to mention incompetent and foolish and unable to take care of herself.
Gerald leaned forward again and stroked the back of her hand, where it rested next to her coffee cup. “Thank you, Lily. Thank you for trusting me with this story.”
Lily was so happy after that she fairly floated home on clouds of joy and relief. Between Gerald’s heroic understanding, his intimate caresses at the coffee shop, and his ordering the oysters at the restaurant, she was convinced that tonight was the night he was going to make his move. No more chaste kisses at the door, she was sure. Her heart flutter
ed in anticipation.
He would be a fabulous kisser, she knew. He had that lovely mouth, those nicely defined lips, that white smile.
She couldn’t wait.
What was wrong with her?
Lily looked down at her naked body as she lay in the tub on Sunday night. Her date with Gerald the night before had ended disastrously, and she’d been ruminating all day about it, driving herself crazy with worry and shame and, more than anything, frustration.
Finally she decided to light some candles, get out the bath oil, and soak herself until she relaxed.
Was it really something wrong with her? she thought again. She had a nice figure. Then again, the bathroom was lit only by candles. And everyone looked good in candlelight. Especially single, thirty-two-year-old women who are wondering if they’re destined to be abducted by a terrorist since they haven’t gotten married yet.
Still, she knew she wasn’t ugly. And he clearly liked her. If he didn’t, why would he continue to ask her out? Bring her flowers? Take her to dinner? Be so wonderfully understanding about her checkered past? And he was always so complimentary.
Yet he treated her as chastely as if she were his sister.
Lily blushed hot all over again as she recalled the night before. Oh God, what had she been thinking? She soaped up the washcloth and rubbed it hard over the back of her neck.
She and Gerald had gotten home and she’d invited him in. All she’d wanted was a kiss, a proper kiss. A passionate kiss. The kind she’d imagined having with Gerald ever since she’d met him at her father’s office, two years ago. The kind of kiss where you needed to hang on to the man with all your might or the passion might blow you both to bits. Not that she’d ever had this sort of kiss before, but she was sure Gerald was capable of it. How could you have those movie star looks and not be capable of a passionate kiss? He was Olivier, Knightley, Rudolph Valentino, all rolled into one. He had to have it in him.
So she’d decided to let him know she was…open to it. Ready for it. And after five whole dates, it was time.
She’d sat close on the couch, let her wrap drop low, leaned toward him so the dress revealed some cleavage, and put her hand on his arm a lot. She’d laughed at his witticisms and flipped her hair around. Around and around. Didn’t they say that was body language men understood?
He’d been responding, too, she thought. Laughing with her, touching her arm, smiling.
Then she’d slid in for the kiss.
And he’d looked at her like he’d caught her picking his pocket. Shocked. Taken aback. Confused.
Had it really been that unexpected?
Maybe he was impotent, she thought, like Georgia had said. Or maybe he was afraid of her.
Or maybe she was a shameless hussy who’d ruined her chances with a very proper gentleman. It wasn’t as if they’d been going out for months and months, after all. Surely she could have waited for him to get around to it on his own.
But no. She hadn’t. This was what came of dating so infrequently, she thought. Her physical desires had gotten totally out of control. She just hoped she hadn’t put Gerald off forever. He’d left shortly after her attempt.
The warm tub water lapped against her breasts as she soaked the washcloth again. Even that caress sent her into a state of frustration. How long had it been since she’d been touched? Since she’d been naked with anyone other than Doug in the house?
Speaking of Doug, Lily heard his raspy breath outside the bathroom door, heard his snort as he found the crack where it had drifted closed, the slant of the older house ensuring the door never stood open but never completely closed. He pushed it with his nose and it slowly widened. She was about to imagine it was Gerald, coming to pull her from the oil-scented water to carry her into the bedroom and ravish her, but the moment she saw Doug all thoughts of Gerald fled her mind.
The dog trembled visibly all over, his back hunched and the whites of his eyes showed as he looked from her to the door behind him. If he’d had a long enough tail, it would have been between his legs. His whole posture screamed fear.
She sat up, water sloshing out of the tub onto the tile floor. “What is it, Doug? Come here,” she cooed, holding out a dripping hand.
But Doug stood trembling and wheezing with anxiety on the bathroom rug.
This was bad. Something was wrong.
Lily stood and grabbed her robe. It had to be the wind, she thought, listening to it howl around the eaves of the old house. Sometimes, when the wind got really strong, she almost felt as if the whole house moved with it, but tonight she’d been so caught up in her thoughts of Gerald she hadn’t even noticed it. Hard to believe since it blew like a cyclone, thrashing the trees, rattling the windowpanes, and whistling through the railing on the front porch.
“Come on, Doug, you know it’s just the wind.” She bent down to him and stroked his quivering back. “You love wind.”
And he did. It was one of his favorite things. There was nothing Doug loved better than to chase a piece of paper, or a plastic cup, or pretty much anything the wind whipped erratically around the yard. He even seemed to love the feel of it on his body, sometimes standing stock-still, nose high, and face into the gusts as they brought caresses and messages from God knew where.
She tried to remember the last time she saw him like this—anxious and timid—and couldn’t. He was normally so bold, so brave, almost stupidly so. One time he’d even charged a police horse that had been pawing the ground and making aggressive noises, as if the thing couldn’t plant one hoof on Doug’s back and kill him. The only things that ever scared him were, ironically, cats—and by lucky chance there were none of those in this neighborhood. Certainly none in the house.
She moved into the bedroom, Doug hard on her heels, and scrubbed herself dry. Then she redonned her thick pink robe.
“Come on, Doug, let’s go see what has you so spooked.”
She left the bedroom and marched down the hall to the top of the stairs. Doug stayed trembling in her doorway.
Despite herself, Lily felt a shiver of fear race up her spine to pause, tingling, at the base of her neck.
She was reminded of that moment in every horror movie where the girl stupidly ignores all the signs and goes searching through the house for the source of some ominous sound, only to be killed by a creepy, hooded bad guy.
“Doug, come,” she said firmly, patting her thigh.
Doug took one step forward, looked at her with white-rimmed eyes, and whined.
Lily looked down the stairs. She’d left no lights on, so the bottom of the stairwell was immersed in a black pool of scary possibilities. She swallowed. This was silly. She was never afraid in her own house. This was one of the safest neighborhoods in town—and they were all pretty safe.
She clutched her robe more tightly around her and descended the stairs. When she reached the bottom she flipped on the hall overhead. Light swept through the space like a flash flood, but though it spread some brightness to the living room, it deepened the shadows behind the chairs and couch, and turned the windows into fathomless inky holes in the walls.
She moved swiftly into the living room and turned on the floor lamp, then the table lamp, then moved through there to the dining room and turned on the chandelier, stopping only after the rooms were lit up like a children’s birthday party.
She took a deep breath. This was better. Still, the windows gaped like the eyes of a madman. She was in a fishbowl. Anybody outside could see right in if they wanted. If Doug was nervous because someone was breaking in—or worse, already in…
But that was ridiculous. If someone had broken in, Doug would be a tornado of barks and growls and bodily action. He wouldn’t be trembling upstairs in the hallway. The only answer was to get him down here and see what he was reacting to.
She moved back through the living room and, after closing the plantation shutters on the front windows, went to the base of the stairs.
“Doug, come!” She looked up the steps. Doug stood at t
he top, head cocked. “Come on, Doug. It’s all right. Want a cookie?” She raised her brows and put on her ecstatic look.
Doug’s stubby tail began to wag. She could tell because his body twisted with the motion, and his smile came back, albeit tentatively and interspersed with some anxious, tongue-curling panting.
But something sharp hit a window. Doug fled and Lily jumped, a yelp of fright popping from her throat. She whirled and looked into the living room.
Nothing moved. The windows looked fine, uncracked, and nothing she could see moved beyond their panes. Except she couldn’t see the front ones now that she’d closed the shutters.
That was silly, though. If someone were breaking in, they wouldn’t do it in front of the house. Especially not with the whole place lit up like a Christmas tree.
Then she heard something at the back of the house. Like a skeletal hand scratching at the back door. It wasn’t a knock, it was a pitiful, otherworldly-type of cry for entry.
She was reminded of the scene in Wuthering Heights when the traveler staying the night was awakened by the ghost of Cathy, scratching at his window with a clawlike hand.
Goose bumps stole up Lily’s arms, and she clutched them to her stomach, squeezing fistfuls of robe in her fingers.
She turned from the stairs and walked through the living room, turning on every light, then moved to the dining room, kitchen, office, and even the basement (which she could thankfully do from the top of the stairs) and did the same. The house was a stadium of illumination, not a shadow could survive. At least not one that could hold a person.
A spirit, on the other hand…
She shivered, and wondered briefly about the history of this house. Her grandmother Bernice had owned it initially, and she’d lived there with her good friend in the other half, a woman whom everyone had called Aunt Vivien. Her father had inherited the whole thing after the two had died, and rented one side to Lily and the other to whomever he could get.
As far as Lily knew, however, no one had died in this place or the other.