Frankenstein swallowed the last bite of his hot dog. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Rosencrans, but that’s quite a success story.”
His comment pleased Summer inordinately. “Thank you.”
“So by now you’ve got what’s-his-name out of your system, I presume. What about new boyfriends?”
“I’m seeing someone. Jim Britt, a dentist.”
“Serious?”
Summer hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. “No.”
“Good.”
She looked at him carefully. “What do you mean, good?”
“I’d hate to think of you turning back into some doctor’s little housewife.” His expression was bland.
“That will never happen again in this life, believe me. I’ve learned my lesson.” Summer shuddered theatrically, watching with regret as he folded the top of the marshmallow bag to guard against temptation. About a dozen marshmallows still remained inside. Prudence dictated that they, and the remaining hot dogs, buns, crackers, and breath mints, be saved for the future meals. “If we’re playing Twenty Questions, I have a few for you: Did you go to college?”
“Yup. Eastern Kentucky University. Majored in law enforcement. But not right out of high school. First I joined the Marines.”
“On purpose?” Most of the fortyish men she knew had spent their formative years doing their best to avoid the service.
He grinned again. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say I was a sucker for that the few, the proud crap.”
“Really?”
“And I didn’t want to get drafted. I thought I’d come out better if I joined before they nabbed me.”
“Did you? Come out better, I mean.”
“I’m still in one piece, so I must have. Although a lot of my friends managed to ride out the waning years of the draft in the National Guard.”
“Were you in Vietnam?” Her voice was hushed, and she looked at him with renewed respect.
He grinned again. “No, but I sweated it for a while there. Just about the time I got out of basic, they started bringing troops home. I was never so thankful for anything in my life. I spent most of my hitch in North Carolina. Which meant I kinda lost my chance to be a big war hero.”
“At least you didn’t die.”
“That’s how I’ve always looked at it.”
“Did you—are you married?”
“Divorced.” His tone was easy. No roadblock went up at all.
“When?”
“Three years ago. When my life went to hell in a handbasket. Along with everything else that happened, my wife left me. Took my daughter with her.”
“You have a daughter?” Somehow the idea that he might be someone’s dad hadn’t occurred to her.
“Yep. She’s thirteen now. I’ve seen her exactly three times since she was ten.” The bitterness in his voice told her how sensitive the topic was. “She doesn’t want to see me. Blames me for everything that happened, including the divorce. Says I ruined her life. The kids at school make fun of her because she’s my kid.”
“I’m sorry.” Her own memories of the past dulled in the face of his imperfectly concealed pain.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“So your wife divorced you over—what happened?” Trying to be delicate, Summer’s tongue stumbled over the last words.
“You mean my little bout with adultery? Oh, yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” Summer said again. The words were inadequate, she knew, but she could come up with nothing better.
“I’m not. Not anymore, not about the divorce. We were never good for each other. She used to tell me I never really loved her, and she was right.”
“Did you meet her in North Carolina?”
He shook his head. “Elaine’s from Nashville. I met her after I got out of the Marines. She was two years younger than me, and we were married for eleven years. Maybe three of ’em good ones. She used to be jealous of every woman I said two words to. And I never cheated once, I swear on the Bible. Not until …” His voice trailed off. Summer understood what he didn’t say.
“What was her name?”
His glance at her was unreadable. He didn’t pretend not to know whom she meant. “Deedee.”
“Did you love her?”
“Deedee?” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes reflective. “I was crazy about her from the time we were teenagers. Then I finally got what I’d been hankering after for twenty-two years—she and I in a red-hot affair—and it wasn’t what I expected at all. We were oil and water, not compatible a bit. But I loved her. Yeah, I loved her. In the end, it wasn’t enough. Not for me. And not for her.”
The raw anguish in his voice as he finished warned her to leave the subject alone. When Frankenstein suddenly busied himself by breaking one last hot dog into pieces for Muffy, she tactfully got to her feet and retired into the darkness with a murmured excuse about heeding nature’s call.
When she returned, he didn’t look up at first. He was squatting by the fire, his attention focused on feeding sticks to the flames. As she watched him without, she thought, his being aware of it, he picked up a freshly opened beer that was waiting beside him and took an enormous swig.
Summer remembered what he had said about being an alcoholic, and felt a twinge of alarm.
He must have felt her eyes on him then, because he glanced around. Her gaze went involuntarily to the beer can he still held.
Knowing that she watched, he put the can to his lips and took another long swallow.
“Quit worrying,” he advised her when he was done, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You wouldn’t want me to die of thirst out here in the wilderness, would you?” He grinned suddenly at the expression on her face. “Besides, it’s water. I filled an empty can up at the stream.”
“In that case, I hope you don’t get dysentery.” It was hard to keep her tone as light as she knew it needed to be. She felt such enormous sympathy for him that it took a huge amount of dissembling not to let it show.
He would hate it if he guessed she felt sorry for him. Summer knew it instinctively, as surely as she knew that in life there would always be taxes and death.
Her flippant rejoinder made him grimace. “Jesus, I never thought about that.”
“Too late now.”
Without warning, Summer yawned so widely that her jaws cracked. With her stomach full, she was out on her feet. She needed sleep in the worst way. Then she glanced at Frankenstein, suddenly ill at ease.
He was busy repacking their remaining supply of food, wrapping it in the white plastic bag and then unzipping the gym bag, to, she assumed, stow it away. When she yawned, he grinned at her.
“Looks like bedtime for you, Bonzo.”
Bedtime for Bonzo, indeed. She was agreeable. There was just one teensy little problem.
They only had one quilt between them. And she was wearing it.
23
“Need some jammies?” Frankenstein fished in the gym bag and held out something. Summer recognized her own Daisy Fresh uniform with relief. The clothes might be less than fresh, but at least they were clothes. She wouldn’t have to sleep naked after all.
“Thanks.” Summer accepted the garments and retired behind a rock to pull them on. Without underclothes, her bare bottom clung to the polyester pants, and her breasts hung unconfined beneath the thin nylon of the blouse. Glancing down, Summer saw that her nipples thrust visibly against the cloth.
She pulled the quilt back around herself, and felt better. Not quite so hideously exposed.
When she emerged from behind the boulder, she saw that he had zipped himself into the hooded sweatshirt and dragged the gym bag over to a spot near the fire. He was stretched out flat on his back with his head resting on the bag and his arms crossed over his chest.
His eyes were closed. They flickered open as Summer hesitantly approached.
“Good night,” he said.
Summer watched in disbelief a
s his eyes closed again. From the sound of his breathing, within seconds he was asleep.
Good night?
Clearly she did not have to fear the consequences of sharing a quilt with him. He was quite content, no, eager from the look of him, to sleep alone, braving the chill night air rather than share a quilt with her.
He had not been so particular earlier in the day. Had he somehow divined that she was growing increasingly attracted to him? Did he fear being attacked in his sleep?
Summer’s face burned.
She glanced around at the darkness outside the flickering circle of light cast by the fire and shivered. Anything could be out there.
Nevertheless, she was not going to debase herself by begging to sleep with Frankenstein.
Clutching the quilt closer, Summer dropped to her knees, brushed a reasonably grassy spot free of rocks and twigs, and lay down. Clicking her tongue at Muffy, she swooped the dog up when she approached and cuddled her close beneath the quilt.
Muffy sighed and snuggled. Summer no longer felt quite so alone.
Closing her eyes, she willed herself to go to sleep.
Paradoxically, now that she wanted to, Summer found that she could not. Curled into a fetal position not far from the fire—or Frankenstein’s feet—with a wad of quilt for a pillow, Summer tried everything to make herself drowsy, from counting sheep to imagining the flowers she would plant in next summer’s garden. Nothing worked. Her mind was awake and busy; her emotions seesawed between affront at Frankenstein’s lack of interest and fear at her surroundings.
Frankenstein had not even so much as shot her a suggestive look all through their meal. He must have known she was naked beneath the quilt, but clearly the knowledge had not disturbed him in the least.
Screech!
Summer’s eyes snapped open. What was that sound? Glancing around, she could see nothing moving outside of the dancing flames and Frankenstein’s rhythmically rising and falling chest. Beyond the small circle of light cast by the fire, the darkness was impenetrable.
The sound must have been made by an animal—a small animal, she hoped—somewhere far away in the woods.
Her lids started to droop again. Why hadn’t Frankenstein made a pass at her? Most men, given the circumstances, wouldn’t have hesitated. Had anxiety over their predicament sapped his sex drive? Was he too blamed tired after their endless trek?
The thought that he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of the situation occurred to her, only to be dismissed with an inner hoot.
Frankenstein a gentleman? She didn’t think so.
Crack!
What was that? Summer’s eyes sprang open again. Once again there was nothing to be seen except the rocks, the fire, and Frankenstein. Muffy was snuggled beneath her chin, fast asleep. Her fur tickled Summer’s nose, but not for anything would she have evicted her sleeping partner. Though the comfort Summer took from the dog’s proximity was largely illusory and she knew it, still it made her feel better to have Muffy near.
If there was a bear prowling nearby, how much help would Muffy be?
At least she would bark, Summer told herself. I hope, honesty compelled her to add.
In her experience, Muffy barked only when trying to make herself clear on the subject of food. Oh, well, maybe she would think a prowling bear was something to eat.
More likely the bear would decide to make a meal of Muffy.
Summer’s lids closed again. Sleep, she ordered herself. Sleep. With the best will in the world, though, sleep would not come.
Was she just not Frankenstein’s type? she wondered. Did he not find her attractive? Men used to fall all over themselves around her.
Used to being the operative statement.
Despite his joking comment to the contrary, Frankenstein probably did prefer firm-bodied, empty-headed twenty-year-olds.
A thirty-six-year-old woman with crow’s feet and a soft, well-rounded body might not turn him on.
Most men didn’t have the sense to prefer hard-earned wisdom and a measure of life experience to blind, giggly adoration, either.
The bottom line was that most men thought with their dicks. Clearly Frankenstein’s dick was not thinking of her.
Which, Summer told herself fiercely, was just fine with her.
And on that note she finally fell asleep.
Sometime later, a hoarse cry jerked her awake.
Summer sat bolt upright, heart pounding. It was still dark as pitch. Had she been asleep long? She had no idea. All she knew was that she was suddenly scared to death.
Someone had screamed.
Glancing around, she saw that Frankenstein was on his hands and knees, face ashen, staring fixedly at a point just beyond the fire. It didn’t require a genius to deduce that the cry that had awakened her had come from him.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Visions of bear attack danced in her head as, dragging the quilt and Muffy with her, she scrambled across the few feet of rocky ground that separated them. Frankenstein didn’t even glance at her as her shoulder and hip butted against his side.
“Look—look there!” He pointed into the darkness.
Summer looked, but saw nothing except the shadowy images of swaying branches. Like him, she was on all fours. Side by side, they stared at something just beyond the light.
“What? What is it?” Summer’s heart pounded. Her throat grew dry as she searched the shifting shadows for whatever menaced them. To put such fear into Frankenstein, it had to be a werewolf, at least. Or the bad guys.
“Don’t you—can’t you see her?” His voice was hoarse, horror-filled.
“Who? See who?” Her eyes practically popped from her head as she peered in the direction he pointed. Whatever kind of danger lurked just beyond her sight, if it was awful enough to horrify Frankenstein then it was awful enough to horrify her. She was ready, willing, and able to be terrified on faith alone.
“Deedee.” The name emerged as a croak.
Deedee? Who was Deedee? Gasping with fear as her eyes bored a hole through the night, Summer tried to remember. Wasn’t Deedee the name of the woman who …?
“Deedee’s dead!” she burst out.
“Don’t you think I know that?” The look he turned on her was savage. “But she’s here—look! Oh, my God, she’s here!”
He sounded shaken. Glancing at his face rather than the empty night, Summer realized that he must have had a nightmare. Of course, that was the explanation. The only explanation. Come to think of it, he’d had one before.
“Good God, you scared me to death.” Giddy with relief, she sank back on her haunches.
“Damn it, look at the dog!”
The urgency in his voice brought her up on her hands and knees again. Knowing it was ridiculous, Summer looked—and felt cold chills race down her spine. Muffy stood just inside the ring of light, tail and ears erect, staring at exactly the same spot where Frankenstein’s gaze was fixed.
The same spot where he claimed to see the long-dead Deedee.
Could both of them really be seeing a ghost?
Nonsense! There was no such thing.
If there’s something strange …
In the shadows beyond the fire, something was taking shape. Summer’s eyes widened. Her breath stopped. Beside her, Frankenstein was as still as stone. Like hers, his attention was riveted on whatever was moving about just beyond the circle of light.
Muffy stood with ears and tail alert, staring.
… in your neighborhood / Who ya gonna call?
Summer’s heart pounded. Was she really, truly, about to see a real, live (or whatever) ghost?
There—she was not mistaken—a solid shape had materialized just beyond the light and was moving toward them.
Ghostbusters!
Muffy yapped, Summer screamed, Frankenstein yelped, and the thing took flight.
Summer watched, mesmerized, as a trio of white-tailed deer leaped in almost perfect unison over their campsite and fled into the night.
Spell broken, he collapsed on his back, his hands pressed to his face. Summer knelt at his side.
“What do you mean, she’s gone? Of course she’s gone. She was never there. You idiot, you scared the stuffing out of me.” Summer punched him in the arm. She had been so frightened that her breathing was still unsteady.
“Hey, that hurt!” Frankenstein caught both of Summer’s hands when she would have punched him again. “I have a bruise there!”
“It was a bad dream!”
“A bad dream.” Frankenstein’s hands tightened around hers. She met his eyes and saw that they looked haunted. “You didn’t see anything?”
“I saw some deer.”
“Jesus.”
“You had a nightmare.”
“I think I’m losing my mind.” He closed his eyes. “You don’t believe in—ghosts?”
Summer shook her head, though of course he couldn’t see. “Don’t be silly.”
“That’s how I feel.” He groaned. “So why do I keep seeing Deedee?”
“You’ve seen her before?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah.” His eyes opened again.
Walking After Midnight Page 17