Tempted

by Megan Hart

  “Are you trying to win my sympathy?”

  “Shamelessly.”

  “I’ll make sure to stock up on white bread and bologna,” I said, the prospect of Alex staying in our house suddenly not as daunting as it had been before.

  “Anne,” Alex said after a pause, “you are a goddess among women.”

  “So I’m told.”

  “Seriously. Tell me what you want me to bring you from Europe.”

  The shift in conversation surprised me. “I don’t want anything!”

  “Chocolate? Sausage? Treacle? What? I might have a hard time smuggling heroin or pot or prostitutes from Amsterdam, though. You’d better keep it legal.”

  “Really, Alex, you don’t have to bring me anything.”

  “Of course I do. If you don’t tell me what you want, I’ll just ask Jamie.”

  “I’d say treacle,” I told him. “But I’m not sure what it is…does it come from a well?”

  He chuckled. “It’s molasses. It comes in a jar.”

  “Bring me that.”

  “Ah, a woman who likes to live on the wild side. No wonder Jamie married you.”

  “There’s more than one reason,” I said.

  I realized I’d been standing still, chatting, for several minutes. Alex had so engaged me I hadn’t felt the need to multitask. I looked again to the kitchen, but James had disappeared. I heard the mumble of television from the den.

  “I was sorry I couldn’t make the wedding. I heard it was a blast.”

  “Did you? From James?”

  A silly question. From who else would he have heard it? Except James had never mentioned he’d been in touch with Alex. James had spoken frequently about his best friend from junior high school, though on the subject of their falling-out he’d been rather more vague. He had other friends…but we were getting married, and I have a habit of trying to make things better. I’d been the one to add Alex’s name to the guest list, uncertain even if the address I found in James’s outdated address book was the right one. I figured whatever had happened between them might be repaired with a little outreach. When he’d sent regrets, I wasn’t surprised, but at least we’d made the attempt. Apparently it had worked better than I’d known.

  “Yeah.”

  “It was a very nice wedding,” I said. “It was too bad you couldn’t make it, but now you’ll get to come for a long visit, instead.”

  “He sent me pictures. You both look very happy.”

  “He sent you…pictures? Of our wedding?” I looked at the fireplace mantel, where a framed photo of us still rested even after six years. I always wondered how long it was acceptable to display wedding photos. I guessed at least until baby photos came along to replace them.

  “Yeah.”

  That surprised me, too. I’d sent photos to a few of my friends who hadn’t been able to attend, but…well, we were women. Chicks did stuff like that, giggled over pictures and sent chatty e-mails.

  “Well….” I trailed off, awkward. “When are you coming in?”

  “I have a few details to work out with the airline. I’ll let Jamie know.”

  “Sure. Do you want me to get him for you?”

  “I’ll e-mail him.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell him.”

  “Well, Anne, it’s almost two in the morning here. I’m going to go to bed. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Goodbye, Alex—” He’d already disconnected, leaving me to stare at the phone, a bit taken aback.

  There was nothing odd, not really, about his being in touch with James. Men’s friendships were different from women’s. My husband never told me about talking to Alex, but that didn’t mean he was keeping it a secret. It just meant he hadn’t thought enough of it to share. In fact, I should be happy they’d resolved their differences. It would be nice to meet James’s dear friend, Alex, the rascal. The ragged one who ran round and round the rugged rock. The one who promised me treats from Wonderland. The one who called my husband, Jamie, not James.

  The one James had only ever spoken of in past tense.

  Mary’s phone beeped for the fourth time in half an hour, but this time she only glanced at it before shoving it deep into her purse. “So how long is he staying?”

  “I don’t know.” I lifted a crystal picture frame from a shelf laden with them. “How about this one?”

  My sister made a face. “No.”

  I put it back and looked around the store. “They’re all like that in here. We’re not going to find anything.”

  “Whose bright idea was it to get a fancy picture frame, anyway? Oh, right,” Mary said sarcastically. “Patricia’s. So why are we suckered into trying to find one?”

  “Because Patricia can’t come to places like this with the kids.” I scanned the shelves but all the frames were similar. Overpriced and glittering with ugliness.

  “Right. And I don’t suppose Sean can watch the rugrats in the evening?”

  I shrugged, but something in Mary’s tone made me look up. “I don’t know. Why? Did she say something about it?”

  Sisters also share a nonverbal language. Mary’s posture and expression said it all, but in case I missed what she was trying to say, she said it anyway. “He’s a jerk.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Mare.”

  “Haven’t you noticed how she doesn’t talk about him anymore? And it used to be all, Sean this, Sean that, Sean says, Sean thinks. Tell me you haven’t noticed we’ve been spared the Gospel of Sean lately. And she’s been an even bigger priss than usual. Something’s going on.”

  “Like what?” We abandoned the frou-frou shop and headed out into the bright June sunshine.

  “Well, I don’t know.” Mary rolled her eyes.

  “Maybe you should ask her.”

  My sister gave me another look. “You could ask her.”

  The sight of a familiar shock of black hair and a wardrobe that had dangerously malfunctioned made us both pause.

  “Oh, brother,” Mary said under her breath. “Goth vomited all over her.”

  I laughed. “Is that what that is?”

  “I think you used to call it punk back in the day. Holy cow. She never quits. I thought she was seeing that guy who worked at the record store.” Mary sounded awed. “Who’s that guy?”

  Claire was grinning and flirting with a very tall, very lanky young man with enough metal in his face to set off an airport security alarm. She wore a set of black-and-white striped stockings, a black lace skirt with a jagged hem and a T-shirt emblazoned with the name of a punk rock band that had swirled down the drain of drug overdoses before she’d been born.

  “She definitely marches to the beat of her own drum,” I said.

  “Yeah, that and an electric guitar, two French horns and a synthesizer.”

  Claire looked up and waved from across the parking lot, said her adieu to her new suitor and headed toward us. “Ladies. Good morning.”

  “It’s afternoon,” Mary pointed out.

  “Depends on what time you got up,” countered Claire with an unashamed grin. “So what’s the happs?”

  “Anne can’t decide on a frame.”

  “Hey!” I protested. Without Patricia here to balance on my side, I could quickly be overtaken by my two younger sisters. “It’s not up to me. We should all decide.”

  Claire waved a hand clad in a fingerless lace glove. “Whatevs. Get whatever you want. It’s not like they’ll really care.”

  “Hey, Madonna,” I said, annoyed, “1983 called. It wants its wardrobe back.”

  Mary snerked. Claire made a face. I felt a small, useless moment of triumph.

  “I’m starving,” Claire declared. “Can’t we go find someplace to chow?”

  “Not all of us have the munchies,” Mary put in.

  “Not all of us have to watch our weight,” Claire retorted sweetly.

  “Girls, girls,” I interjected. “Grade school’s over. Can we please grow up?”

  Claire slung an arm around Mary’s shoulders and gav
e me an innocent look. “Wha? Whyfor you so uptight, my sistah?”

  I did love them, all of them, and couldn’t have imagined my life without them. Mary grinned and shoved Claire’s arm off her. Claire shrugged and leered at me.

  “C’mon, princess,” she cooed. “Treat your li’l sissies to a burger and fries.”

  “Are you going to come clean my house?” I asked. “That’s worth the price of lunch, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, right, before James’s boyfriend comes for a visit. I almost forgot.” She stuck out her tongue. “You don’t want him to find all your sex toys lying around.”

  “You never did say when he was coming,” Mary said.

  The three of us started toward the diner on the other side of the parking lot. The food was decent and not generally a draw to the summertime tourist crowd inundating Sandusky to visit Cedar Point. Better still, it was close, and my stomach was rumbling.

  “I don’t know when he’s coming.”

  “What’s his name? Alex?” This came from Claire, who held the door open for Mary and me.

  “Yeah.” The waitress seated us in a comfortable booth near the back and handed us menus none of us needed. We’d been coming here forever. “Alex Kennedy.”

  “And he didn’t come to your wedding?” Mary shook sugar into her iced tea and squeezed the lemon wedge. She passed me a few packets without my having to ask.

  “No, he was overseas. But his company got bought out, and he’s coming back to the States. I don’t know that much about it.”

  “What are you going to do with him while James is working?” This practical question astoundingly came from Claire, sipping water through a straw.

  “He is an adult, Claire. I’m assuming he can find something to do.”

  Mary snorted. “Yeah, but he’s a guy.”

  “Good point,” Claire said. “You’d better lay in supplies of nachos and spare socks.”

  I rolled my eyes at both of them. “He’s James’s friend, not mine. I’m not going to be doing his laundry.”

  Claire made a derisive noise. “We’ll see.”

  “Oh, listen to you,” Mary said. “When’s the last time you ever did anyone’s laundry, including your own?”

  “You’re insane,” replied Claire, unconcerned. “Of course I do my own laundry at school.”

  Mary frowned. “You should do it at home, too.”

  “Why? It gives Mom such pleasure,” said Claire, and I was pretty sure she was being serious.

  “I’m not worried about the laundry,” I told both of them. “Or about entertaining him. I’m sure he’ll be able to entertain himself just fine.”

  “Ha. He’s been in Hong Kong, right?” Claire put her hands together and pasted on a silly grin. “He’ll expect a geisha, you watch.”

  “Geishas are Japanese, you idiot.” Mary shook her head.

  “What. Evs.” Claire blew upward, puffing her bangs out of her eyes.

  Listening to them declare disaster actually made me feel better about Alex’s visit. “Singapore. And it will be fine, you guys.”

  “No walking around in your panties,” said Claire with a doleful sigh, like that was the worst thing of all. “How will you stand it?”

  “As if I do that anyway?”

  “Dude,” my youngest sister declared, “that shit’s the best part of living on your own.”

  We all laughed. Mary’s phone beeped again, and she dug it out. She read the message, tapped the keys and tucked it away again.

  “Hey, hot stuff, you act like you’re married to that thing. You holding out on us or what?” Claire craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Mary’s phone.

  “It’s just Betts.” Mary shrugged and drank tea.

  Claire leaned forward. “Are you and Betts a couple?”

  Mary’s mouth dropped open. So did mine. Claire looked unconcerned. “Well? She keeps texting you like she can’t bear to be parted from you. And we all know you’re not that into dudes.”

  “What?” Mary, who generally gave Claire as good as she got, seemed unable to speak.

  I was finding it hard to speak, myself. “Claire, good lord.”

  Claire shrugged. “It’s a legitimate question.”

  “What ever gave you the idea I don’t like guys?” Mary blinked rapidly, her cheeks staining bright red.

  “Umm…the fact you’ve never had sex with one?”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” I told Claire.

  “No,” said Mary, “it doesn’t, especially since, hello! I so have!”

  Claire and I both did a double take. One of the delightful things about having sisters is the Three Stooges-esque quality of so many of our conversations.

  “Get out! What? When? Who?” Claire squealed.

  Mary looked around the diner before she answered. “I did it, okay? I lost my virginity. What’s the big deal? You all did it, too.”

  “Yeah, but none of us waited until we were shriveled up old maids,” Claire said.

  “I’m not an old maid, Claire.” Mary’s face still gleamed from blushing. “And not all of us are rampant sluts.”

  Claire frowned. “Hey.”

  “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” I said to defuse them.

  Both turned to look at me with almost identical expressions of disdain.

  “I don’t,” said Mary while at the same time Claire chimed in, “Who says she’s got to have a boyfriend?”

  “I just thought…never mind.”

  Mary shook her head as the waitress brought us our platters, but waited until we were alone again before speaking. “It was just some guy.”

  “Some random guy?” I wouldn’t have expected that from Mary, who used to dress up as a nun…and not for Halloween. “You lost your virginity to some stranger?”

  Mary blushed again. Claire hooted, reaching for the ketchup. “Rock it, sister. Way to go.”

  “I figured it was time,” Mary said. “So I went out and I found someone.”

  “Weren’t you worried about…disease?” I shuddered a little. “Or…anything?”

  “She made him wear a condom.” Claire waved a fry. “Bet you ten bucks.”

  “Of course I made him wear a condom,” Mary muttered. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Well, I’m just surprised, that’s all.” I didn’t mean to sound disapproving. I wasn’t, not really. Losing her virginity to a stranger was probably no worse than my giving it up to the high school boy I mistakenly thought loved me. At least Mary had gone into it without romantic expectations.

  “Spill it. Was it good?”

  Mary shrugged, looking down. Her phone begged for attention again, but she ignored it. “Sure. Yeah.”

  “You’re not convincing me.” Claire nudged her.

  Mary laughed. “Yeah. It was good. He was pretty hot. And I guess…he was good.”

  “What, you guess? You don’t know? If you don’t know for sure, Mare, it can’t have been that good.”

  “Why are we getting sex advice from you, I want to know.” I pressed down the top bun of my overstuffed burger, and juice puddled on the plate. I was going to eat the whole thing, I just knew it, even if I’d regret it the next time I got on the scale.

  Claire shrugged and dug into her coleslaw. “Because I’ve had the most sex. Duh.”

  “Duh.” Mary laughed. “I wouldn’t brag about that, if I were you.”

  “I’m not bragging, just being honest. Geez. What I want to know is, how come you all have such a puritanical attitude toward fucking and I don’t. How’d that happen?”

  I laughed. “I don’t have a puritanical attitude toward fucking, Claire.”

  She gave me a look. “Oh, really? What’s the kinkiest thing you ever did?”

  Silence.

  “I thought so.”

  A triumphant, smug younger sister is quite annoying. I threw a fry at her. She ate it with aplomb and licked her fingers.

  “It’s not about the kink,” Mary said. “Gosh, just because we hav
en’t let anyone tie us up or spank us doesn’t make us prudes.”

  Claire laughed, tipping back her head. “Oh, please. These days, spanking’s almost vanilla.”

  “What’s the freakiest thing you’ve ever done, then?” I asked calmly, turning the tables.

  Claire shrugged. “Cutting.”

  Mary and I both recoiled. “Claire, gross!”

  She laughed. “Gotcha.”

  “Gross,” Mary repeated, looking sickened. “People do that?”

  “People do everything,” Claire said matter of factly.

  “I’d never let anyone cut me,” said Mary.

  Claire pointed with a fry. “You never know what you’ll do for the right person, Mare. Never say never.”

  Mary scoffed. “I can’t imagine there could possibly be a right person who’d get me to agree to cutting.”

  “Maybe not cutting, but sure as hell it would be something,” Claire said. “Love is some messed up shit.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in love,” said Mary.

  “Goes to show what you know,” answered Claire. “I do.”

  “Me, too,” I said. We raised our glasses and clinked. “To love. All kinds.”

  “Oooh,” said Claire. “Anne is kinky, after all.”

  Chapter 03

  “So. Tell me about him.” I said this to James as we lay in bed, the covers thrown off us in deference to the heat wave that was too fierce for early June. The overhead fan whirred, stirring air brought in from the lake, but I was still hot.

  “Who?” James sounded sleepy. He had to get up early to hit the job site.

  “Alex.”

  James made a muffled, snorting sort of noise into his pillow. “What do you want to know?”

  I stared upward, into darkness, and imagined stars. “What’s he like?”

  James was silent for so long I was certain he’d fallen asleep. At last, he rolled onto his back. I couldn’t see his face, but I pictured it as he spoke.

  “He’s a good guy.”

  What did that mean? I rolled onto my side, facing him. Between us, heat stirred. Reaching out, I could have touched him, but I tucked my hand beneath my pillow instead and found a cool spot on the sheets.

  “He’s smart. He’s…”