by Jo Leigh
“For what?”
“This is the best present I’ve ever had. I still can’t believe you did it.”
“Why wouldn’t you believe it? I’ve become quite fond of you, Ms. Becker.”
“Odd, isn’t it? How easy it was to talk when we’d never met,” she murmured.
“It’s easy now. Isn’t it?”
“Yes. Definitely. You’re better than ever. I just hope that when we get back, it won’t, you know, change.”
He squeezed her arm. “You don’t think it’ll be different?”
She looked up at him. To his dark eyes, and his wonderful lower lip. “Different isn’t always better.”
“What are you asking me?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I need to know that you’ll still be there. That we’re still going to type,” she said.
“Of course we are. Why in hell wouldn’t we?” he asked.
“Please don’t be upset,” she said.
“I’m not,” he stated.
“You sound like you are,” she told him.
He sat up, dislodging her so he could turn to face her. “What’s this about? You think I brought you here so I could end our relationship?”
“Relationship? Is that what we have?” she queried.
“I guess. What would you call it when a person can’t wait to get home so he can log in? I check for you every night. You know that, don’t you?” he asked.
“And I check for you, whenever I can. When you’re there, I’m so glad,” she said.
“But now?”
“Nothing. Never mind. It was silly,” she said.
“Talk to me,” he ordered.
“I should go back.”
“I see.”
She climbed off the bed, suddenly uncomfortable in just the towel. Tugging open a drawer, she pulled out a pair of shorts, panties, bra and a tank top, then went into the bathroom. She almost closed the door, but felt weird about it, so she just put on the clothes as quickly as she could. When she saw her hair, she shuddered. It was going to be hell brushing it out.
She took a deep breath and went back into the room, stopping before she hit the corner of the bed. “I can’t leave them. They count on me. It’s complicated.”
He nodded. “Okay. That makes sense. You have a relationship with these people. You’ve been with them a long time.”
“That’s right. I have. I understand what’s going on with them,” she said.
“That’s important. Continuity can make things easier for everyone,” he said.
“Continuity. That’s right. That’s exactly right.”
“It’s funny,” he said. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I really did have it made at the Post. I worked long and hard to get all my sources. Now, all that’s gone.”
“Are you sorry?” she asked.
“Sad. But not sorry.”
He got up, padded across the wood floor, and for the first time she really noticed his boxers. The pattern that she’d thought was abstract wasn’t. It was tiny pictures of the characters from The Simpsons. Marge, Homer, Bart, Apu. “Nice shorts.”
“Mmm,” he said. “Shorts.”
She laughed, because he really did sound like Homer. “You know, that’s what really got to me.”
“What?”
“Aside from all that music stuff. You got my references.”
“They were quite subtle, too. Let’s see,” he said, “‘Eat my shorts.’ ‘Mmm, doughnuts.’ I had to be on my toes.”
“You were. It was pretty cool.”
“It was. It is,” he told her.
“So, that’s all I’m saying. When we get back, it’ll be the same. Only we’ll have this, too.”
“Works for me,” he agreed.
“Great.”
“Can I just say that you were amazing on the phone? Missy’s gonna be fine. You were perfect, all the way from here,” he said.
Meg’s eyes welled up again, and she wiped them, not wanting to cry. She’d been so determined to change things. But some things couldn’t be changed. Not without hurting a whole lot of people.
“You know what?”
“Hmm?”
He brushed her arm with the back of his hand. “There’s a hammock out there with our names written all over it. And you know what else?”
“What?”
“If we call now, they’ll bring us anything we want. Hammock service, I believe they call it. I was thinking about drinks. Something with umbrellas. And perhaps some lunch. Something that’s easy to eat when we’re swaying in the breeze. What do you think?”
“I think it sounds wonderful,” she said.
“Any preferences?” he asked.
“You order. You did a great job with breakfast.”
He kissed her very gently on the lips, then on the forehead. “I’m glad I’ve got you in my corner, Meg.”
He went to the phone, and she stepped outside. All she wanted was to shut down. To stop thinking, stop worrying. She couldn’t do anything more for Missy. It was out of her hands. What she could do was be here, be with Alex. Let it go, at least for the next few days.
If nothing else, she could have this, right?
17
THE HAMMOCK WAS MADE OF rope, hanging in between two huge palm trees. There was a large pillow at the top, and a little table within easy reach on the right. The view from the hammock was straight out of the heart of paradise. The sea, aquamarine and so clear you could see all the way down to your toes. The sky, bluer than anything over Los Angeles, with clouds made of cotton and angels’ wings.
Nothing was going to interfere with the perfection of this moment. Hearing Alex walking down the stairs from the bungalow to the sand filled her with a giddy anticipation. She backed up to the edge of the hammock, braced her arms, and slid onto ropes that were surprisingly comfy.
She looked over to see Alex smiling. He’d changed from his boxers to another pair of blue trunks. Did he own any other color? She’d have to find out. It was a good project, something she could totally delve into.
“What are you grinning at?” he asked.
“Laughing in anticipation,” she replied.
“Ah, good.” He walked around the palm tree so he could get to his side of the hammock. “You made this look easy.”
“This thing is the size of a small country. You shouldn’t have any trouble,” she joked.
“We’ll see,” he said, and used her exact approach to climb aboard. A few seconds later he was lying next to her, his side pressing against hers, their heads sharing the big pillow.
He slipped his arm under her neck, and Meg adjusted her body so she was curled into him.
“Feeling better?”
She nodded, rubbing her cheek on his chest. “Much. I’ve wanted to be in this hammock since I saw it on the brochure.”
“It’s pretty spectacular.”
“Who’d have thought rope could feel so good?” she murmured.
Alex let his fingers drift over her arm. “Oh, I can think of a whole bunch of naughty answers to that question. How can I pick just one?”
“I’m too blissed out to pinch you,” she retorted.
“I’ll consider myself pinched, how’s that?”
She looked up with a grin. “Excellent, thank you.”
They lay there for several minutes, the breeze fanning them but not moving the hammock. The clouds drifted silently above and the sea lapped at the shore like a cat drinking warm milk.
“Alex?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Imagine all the different ways I can make you shiver.”
“Oh,” she said, liking the sound of that. “But, no, I mean when you get back.”
“Ah.”
“I know you’ve been thinking about it.” She ran her hand over his belly, sighing as his muscles tensed and relaxed.
“That’s true. Which I realize is against the rules, but I’ve always been a rebel,” he said.
“That my life, up till noon yesterday, was not everything I’d hoped it would be.”
“Boy, you have been thinking.”
“My curse,” he said as he stroked her shoulder.
“You’re trying to sidetrack me.”
“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” He moved his hand up, brushing his fingers softly over her chin.
“Yes,” she said, determined not to get distracted. Yet.
“Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She looked up at him, so she could watch his eyes.
He met her gaze squarely. “I’m done with the paper.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but she bit the words back. She wanted to hear all of what he said, what he felt. “Go on.”
“It’s going to happen. It’s already happened. It doesn’t matter. It was sucking the life out of me. The thought of going back to that grind makes me ill. I just can’t do it anymore.”
“So you’re going to write your novel?”
“Yeah. And I’ve been thinking about what you suggested. I can do both. Work on the novel and write about the things I’ve learned in Washington. I have no idea if either will succeed, but I’ve got to try,” he said.
“That’s pretty major,” she observed.
“It is. And all because of you.”
“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand how.”
He looked at her for a long moment, letting his gaze linger on her eyes, her lips. “Because it was your birthday. And because I wanted to do something special for you. I took a damn big risk, asking you to meet me here. It could have turned out very differently.”
“I’ll say,” she agreed dryly.
He cleared his throat and she wondered if they’d gotten a little too close for comfort. “What was your worst fear?” he asked, and sure enough, his voice had changed.
“That’s easy. That you’d be this totally nice guy, with great intentions, and that you’d really like me.”
He laughed. “I’m your worst fear?”
“No, the fear was that you’d be all those things, and I’d feel nothing.” It was her turn for restlessness. She moved, sat up, curling her legs beneath her as the hammock swung. “Not even hate you, just feel no connection. And that we’d somehow get through the five days, and we’d go back home and it would never be the same again. I don’t think you have any idea how important to me our talks are, Alex,” she said.
“Yeah, I think I do.”
“No. No, I can’t even explain it to myself. It’s not that I don’t love my work. I do. There’s nothing better than caring for animals. They’re wonderful and they depend on me, and sometimes I can really help.” She touched his arm, but she couldn’t be still. She wanted to pace, but she didn’t want to leave him. Instead, she focused on the ocean. Took a deep breath before she met his gaze once more. “But for the last few years, maybe longer, I haven’t felt it. The joy. They don’t understand that they’re pulling on me. Not the animals, the people. Taking little pieces every day. They love their pets. Too much sometimes. It’s an odd group of misfits on that mountain. It’s become their place to hide. They’re so proud of being separate.”
She took his hand again, folding his fingers between her own. “Did you know most of the parents homeschool their kids? Not for religious reasons, or even the sad state of the schools. They do it because it keeps them on the mountain.”
“What do they want from you?” he asked.
“Comfort. Like you said. Continuity. You’d have to have known my father to really understand. He was a remarkable man. No one could have been more dedicated to his profession. He lived for work, and there was nothing more important.”
“Not even his little girl?”
Meg closed her eyes. She pulled her free arm tight against her body. “That would be a no. He didn’t spend a lot of time at home. Not in the home part, at least. He was always in the office, or out on a house call. He’d come in late, leave early. When he was home, he was asleep until the phone rang.”
“How did your mother cope with that?” Alex asked.
“She adored him. The sun rose and set on his shoulders. She cooked, she cleaned, she made our clothes. I never saw her when she wasn’t put together. Her hair was always neat, everything was ironed. A real Stepford Wife. When my father died, she fell completely apart. She went to live with her sister, who was a nurse. She’s on medication, and she will be for the rest of her life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too. Because my mother had this killer sense of humor. She was a riot. I think she could have done stand-up. Seriously, she was incredibly witty. Had a degree in English lit, but she never did anything with it,” Meg said.
Alex sat up, although it wasn’t the most graceful move ever. He ignored the swaying of the hammock as he got resettled. “But she didn’t have a sense of humor about the housework, did she?”
“Oh, no. That was sacrosanct. Everything that touched my father was deadly serious.”
“Is he why you went to veterinary school, or was she?”
Meg glanced up, prepared to see him smug, but he wasn’t. His eyes were filled with compassion, and her heart lurched. “That’s pretty observant for a columnist.”
“It’s always easier to see outside of ourselves,” he said.
“I can’t leave there,” she repeated.
“Because…?”
“You heard that conversation. You know how they count on me.”
“They’d survive,” he insisted.
“You think it’s that easy? Buh-bye, nice knowing you, here’s the new doc?”
“Simple, yes,” he said. “Easy, no.”
“It’s been my whole life,” she told him.
He touched her cheek gently. “I understand that.”
“I have no concept of anything else.”
“I know that, too. But, Meg, don’t you think you deserve to know more? To find out who you are? Not who your father wanted you to be. Or your mother. But who you want to be?”
“I’m not brave like you are,” she said.
“I know that’s not true. You came here, didn’t you?”
She laughed. “To a fabulous tropical island? All expenses paid? Yeah, it was brutal.”
“You didn’t know me,” he pointed out.
“Yes, I did. I do. I know you better than any other person in my life. Meeting you just confirmed it. Face it, Rosten, you’re an open book.”
He laughed then. “Jesus, if anyone I knew heard you say that, they’d think you were nuts. I’m the most closed son of a bitch I know. I don’t open up to anyone.”
“Except to Mountain Vet.”
“She is the exception,” he agreed.
“Why?” Meg asked.
“Why you, you mean?”
She nodded.
He let out a slow breath. “You made it safe. Not to mention fun. I know one trait you picked up from your mother.”
“I make a mean tuna casserole?”
“Yep, that’s the one,” he exclaimed.
“Do you really see yourself as closed off? I find that so hard to believe,” she said.
“I’ve lived in D.C. a long time. I believe about two percent of what I hear. I’ve trained myself—well, at least till yesterday—to never give a thing away, because there are very big, very dangerous sharks where I work. It wasn’t a stretch, however. Remember, I come from the land of intellectual reason. Light reading in my house, and this was when I was a kid, mind you, was Nietzsche.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Only slightly. My parents, unlike yours, had no sense of humor, at least about themselves. They believe in the law, in the constitution, in justice, which, by the way, they propound is a completely separate entity from the law,” he said.
“But you’re a riot.”
He looked at her sharply. “A riot?”
“You make me laugh all the time. How is it
possible that you can keep this huge part of you a secret? Surely you have someone close, someone who knows,” she said.
His smile broke her heart, it was so sad. “Aren’t we a special pair? I can’t laugh, you can’t say no.” He stopped, blinked. “Hey, wait a minute.”
“Ha-ha. You can’t laugh, my ass.”
“Your ass is nothing to laugh about.”
“This is a serious discussion,” she said, smacking him lightly.
“Too serious. We’re on vacation,” he insisted.
“But you still want me to quit, don’t you?”
He reached over and pulled her close. She uncurled her legs, ready to lie down again, ready to be held tight.
“I want what would make you happy,” Alex said. “You’re young, you’re gorgeous, you’re bright. I could go on and on. And you’re stuck up on a mountain with a bunch of llamas and borderline cult members. You do the math,” he said deadpan.
“You’re right. We are on vacation,” she admitted.
“Speaking of which, where are our drinks?”
“They really deliver to a hammock?”
“They do indeed.”
“What did you order?”
“For you? A totally girlie drink. Umbrellas, whirled in a blender, the whole nine yards,” he confessed.
“And for you?”
“A Shirley Temple.”
Meg giggled as he took his sweet time getting horizontal. It seemed impossible, but in the last hour she’d grown to like Alex even more. She’d also come to have great respect for his sexual prowess, but that wasn’t the only reason for her raised esteem.
This was one hell of a man. He continued to surprise her. To delight her. And he lived a gazillion miles away. Which wasn’t fair at all.
“Hey, what’s that frown for?” he asked.
“Thoughts of home,” she said.
“That’s not allowed. However…”
“What?”
“I hear our drinks.”
“They talk?” she teased.
“No, but the waiter drives a golf cart.”
She sat up, with him pushing, and he sat up, with her pulling.
When she looked, she saw it wasn’t a waiter at all. It was Walter and Tina, and Tina was waving like a madwoman. They drove up near the bungalow, then got out of the cart. To Meg’s amazement, Walter took hold of Tina’s hand as they walked toward the hammock. Both of them were smiling.