It was a good thing she'd torn up that letter he'd written to her. No loose ends.
The break had been sudden ... and permanent.
Chapter 21
Half-drunk from the Retsina, Erik lurched back to the cottage, wanting only to fall into bed and sleep. He was relieved to see Margit hadn't returned from the beach. With any luck, she'd stay there for a while, at least long enough for him to take a nap. Inside, the room was a peaceful haven. Erik sank down onto the cool white sheets with a sigh of relief and stared up at the paddles of the electric fan spinning lazily on the ceiling. Wooden slats at the window protected the room from the sun, yet allowed in a fresh sea breeze. Erik closed his eyes, enjoying the blissful quiet. The only sounds were the whisper of the fan and in the distance, the crashing surf.
A little bit of heaven, he thought, as he sank into sleep and immediately began to dream. He was back at the beach house in Rehoboth. There, in front of him, stood the outdoor shower, and beneath the door, he could see a pair of trim feet. Slowly, he moved toward it and pushed the door open. Inside, he faced a wet, naked Kayleigh. Her hair was white with the lather of shampoo, and some of the rich suds had slid down her neck and onto the swell of her breast. When she saw him, her eyes grew wide. He reached out for her and she melted toward him, feeling very warm, very real. They kissed deeply, his tongue probing the tenderness of her mouth. He felt himself grow hard, and he knew he couldn't wait much longer to have her. He moaned as her warm silky hands closed upon his erection. Then he plunged into her, and out of control, came to a quick climax.
"I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I couldn't wait."
"Don't be sorry, kjareste. It was good for me. Not at all like last night."
Erik's eyes flashed open. He found himself staring down into Margit's heated face. Christ! He'd thought he was dreaming. But obviously, it had been real enough for her. He withdrew from her and rolled over onto his side, his face flushed with embarrassment. He'd been dreaming about Kayleigh, and somehow, during it, Margit had come in and slipped into bed with him. Had he called out Kayleigh's name? No, if he had, Margit would surely not be wearing that pleased expression on her face.
She giggled and ran a finger up the mat of blond hair carpeting his chest. “When I got into bed, you were hard as a rock. Having erotic dreams, were you? About me, I hope."
"Of course,” Erik said lightly and turned over on his back to escape her cloying hands.
"Tell me about it, Eriksen. Perhaps we could reenact it."
"Sorry. It's already slipped away."
He stared up at the ceiling, his jaw tight.
You may own me, Margit Lovvig, but you don't own my thoughts and dreams.
* * * *
As Leigh and Melissa cleaned up the remains of their pizza, they heard Bob's Mercedes pull into the driveway. Leigh felt her stomach take a sickening plunge. She'd hoped she'd be able to get away before he came home.
Melissa stared at her warily. “Maybe you'd better go. Dad hasn't adjusted well to ... this whole thing."
But Leigh knew it was too late. He came in through the back door. Immediately, they heard the thud of his briefcase hitting the floor of the mudroom. It was followed by an exasperated growl.
"Who left a goddamn suitcase on the driveway? I almost ran over it!"
He strode into the kitchen and stopped short when he saw Leigh. “What the fuck are you doing here?"
She stared into his glowering face, and then said something that surprised even herself. “You might as well get used to it, Bob. I'm back to stay."
Bob's lips twisted in a sneer. “What do you mean, you're back to stay?"
Melissa and Aaron stared at Leigh, waiting for an answer. She saw the hope in Aaron's eyes and immediately felt guilty.
"I didn't mean it the way it came out,” she explained, her eyes upon Aaron. She turned back to Bob. “I've decided I'm moving back here to Washington. Seeing the kids again has made me realize there's no hope for us if I stay in New York. And they are more important to me than my career."
Bob laughed. “How touching! You're really something, you know that? Do you think they're so naive they're going to believe that? Where was your concern for the kids when you were screwing that Norwegian commie?"
Something snapped inside her. “Don't talk like that in front of them!"
"Hey, lady. This is my house, or have you forgotten? I'll say whatever the fuck I want to in it. And who the hell are you to come off with that ‘holier than thou’ attitude? The kids know what you are! They know I wasn't the one who was sleeping around."
Her mouth opened to put an end to that fantasy once and for all, but then she remembered the kids. They had to live with him for now. Why give them more pain? Her face set, she turned away and went to the phone.
"I'll be out of your way as soon as I can get a taxi.” She called information, and a moment later, gave the address to the dispatcher. When she hung up, she saw Bob had taken off his coat and sat down at the kitchen table, still staring moodily at her. “I just wish you and I could be civilized,” she said. “You know, it can be done."
"Oh, yeah? Well, if you think we're going to get all cozy like they do on the soap operas, forget it. It's not that easy for me to forget what you did."
"I'm not asking you to forget. I just think we should be able to talk without throwing insults at each other."
Bob was silent. Aaron moved over to his mother and took her hand. His eyes were sad. “Do you really have to go, Mom?"
"Yes. For now.” Leigh touched his cheek. “But I meant it when I said I'm going to move back here. First, I have to go back to New York and move out of Deanna's apartment. But I'll be back in a couple of weeks to look for a place to live."
An abrupt laugh escaped Bob's throat. “That should be cute. You'll have to live on your own without that novelist to support you."
Leigh bristled. “I paid my way while I lived at Deanna's."
"Really? Don't tell me she was charging you rent for that 5th Avenue penthouse? Oh! I forgot. She's a Jew, so she probably was. So, how did you afford it? Maybe Erik Haukeland was helping you out?"
Leigh couldn't hide her disgust. “God, you're such a bigot. Too bad your constituents don't know the real Bobby Fallon."
Bob ignored her jibe. “So, how do you plan to support yourself here in Washington? Besides freelancing your kiddie pictures?"
"I'll manage,” Leigh said stiffly. “Not that it's any of your business."
Bob grinned viciously. “Hell! If I know you, you won't be able to make it without a man for long. We'll probably all be hearing wedding bells in the not-too-distant future."
"Don't count on it,” Leigh said between clenched teeth.
"Well, I can't say I'm surprised you didn't stay in Norway. What happened? Once your lover compared you with all his hot Norwegian bimbos, did he lose interest?"
Leigh's stomach churned, but she held back a retort. Sparring with Bob would be a losing battle.
An uneasy silence fell, and was finally broken by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Bob stood. “Your ride is here."
Leigh pulled on her coat, kissed Aaron and said goodbye to Mel. She'd just reached the door when Bob spoke again. “Oh, by the way, Leigh ... what did that Norwegian do to you anyway? You look like hell."
* * * *
The wrought-iron latticed elevator rose smoothly to the top of the luxurious apartment building and stopped at Deanna's penthouse. Leigh pushed the alabaster doorbell button and waited.
The door opened. A uniformed butler met her in the foyer. “Ah, Ms. Fallon. It's so good to see you again. Miss Harper is waiting for you."
"Leigh?” Deanna's strident Brooklyn accent called from the living room. “Get your skinny ass in here!"
Leigh stepped into the living room to see a bald Deanna, dressed in gray sweats, her face a mask of green slime and riding a stationary bicycle like a possessed demon. She stopped when she saw Leigh staring at her.
"Okay, da
mn it, look!” Deanna sat up straight and thrust out her chest. But there was nothing there to thrust out. “The new Deanna Harper! I can give Twiggy a run for her money. And what do you think of my hairstyle? I figure if Sinead O'Connor can get away with it, I can, too. Lost every damn bit of my hair after the first radiation treatment, but the doc says it'll grow back."
Leigh grinned. “What happened to the Dolly Parton wig?"
Deanna shrugged. “Tried the friggin’ thing, but it made me feel like a castmember in Clan of the Cave Bear.” She jumped off the bicycle. “Jesus Christ, Leigh! What happened to you? You look like..."
"Hell?” Leigh said dryly. “Yes, so I've been told. If you have a few years, I'll tell you all about it."
"Okay. Just let me get this shit off my face. Have Jackson bring us some coffee."
A few minutes later, Deanna returned to the room, her face freshly scrubbed. She dropped into a mauve easy chair and stared at Leigh through teal-shaded glasses. “I almost died when you called from Washington. I thought you were still in Norway. Here I am talking to you and I'm thinking, ‘Jesus, this overseas line is good.’ Then you said you were in Washington! What the hell happened?"
"Well, you know that blizzard shut down JFK just as my flight was heading in, so they diverted us to Dulles. I look at it as fate. It didn't give me a lot of time to get nervous about seeing the kids again."
Jackson arrived with the coffee. Deanna sat up straight to take a steaming mug. “Jackson, you're a sweetheart.” She waited until he left the room before speaking again. “I'm not talking about your airline problems, you numbskull! What happened with Erik?"
Leigh took a sip of coffee. “I'll get to that. But what about you? You seem to have recovered from your surgery pretty well. Should you be exercising like that, though?"
Deanna shrugged. “Probably not. But I'll be damned if I'm going to get fat just because I don't have any boobs. I'm doing okay. There were some moments I was depressed as hell, but Carrie was here and helped me through it. It really wasn't as bad as I'd expected. Even the radiation treatments. No nausea or anything—and here, I was expecting to be sicker than a drunken sailor. But my worst problem is just this enormous fatigue after the treatments. I'm so weak I can barely pull down my panties to go to the bathroom. But I feel better after a few days."
"I should've been here,” Leigh said glumly. “Then you would've had me and your daughter."
"Ah, cut the crap! You wouldn't have done me any good in the condition you were in. Shit! You had to go to Norway, Leigh. And no matter what happened there, aren't you glad you did?"
"Oh, yeah. It certainly woke me up to a few facts.” Leigh stood up and walked over to the full-length windows overlooking Central Park. A wave of anguish passed through her, remembering the wonderful moments with Erik in that park. In this apartment, too. She thought of the water-bed in Deanna's room and winced.
"Surely Erik hadn't changed that much in six months,” Deanna said.
Leigh turned around. “Oh, no. He hadn't changed at all. He was loving and attentive. Boy, was he attentive!” Leigh's cheeks grew warm at Deanna's bawdy laugh. “But one night at his family's house, he introduced me to a woman named Margit Lovvig. She had a little boy about three who, would you believe it, looked exactly like Erik.” Leigh told her the whole sorry story, ending with Erik's abrupt departure with Margit.
"Damn him!” Deanna's brown eyes blazed. “How could he just leave without seeing you again? Not even a note, or anything?"
"Nothing.” Leigh blinked quickly, feeling very close to tears. “So, that's what I got out of my trip to Norway. Just my heart stomped on.” She shook her head and muttered, “I was so stupid. Thinking I could make a life with a man so much younger than me."
"It wasn't your age that was the problem,” Deanna said. “It was just circumstances. And Erik's reckless libido. If it weren't for that night with ... what was her name? Margaret?"
"Margit. Oh, Dee, you should see her. Long reddish-blonde hair. Petite. Looks like Nicole Kidman playing the girl-next-door. How could I compete with that?"
"Did Erik say he's in love with her?"
"No. Just the opposite. He says he thinks of her as a sister. That's a laugh, isn't it? He swore he still loved me. I guess I believe that. Well, I did until he left without seeing me. Now, I don't know what to think. Damn!” Leigh plopped down into a chair. “It doesn't matter now anyway, does it? I have to get on with my life."
Deanna looked at her closely. “So, have you decided what you're going to do?"
Here it was. The moment to tell her she planned to move back to Washington. Yet, Leigh didn't speak. The sight of Deanna in that gray sweat-shirt, the now boyish chest flat against the soft fabric, sent a sharp pain through her heart. It wasn't fair! She never expected to see Deanna Harper look so vulnerable.
"Leigh, don't take this wrong, okay? But I think you'll be happier back in Washington."
Leigh's mouth dropped open. Deanna wanted her to move out!
"You're taking it wrong. I can see it on your face,” Deanna said. “Look, darling, I know you're miserable here. And I don't think it was just because Erik wasn't around. You hate living in New York, don't you? Come on, admit it. Remember Christmas? Remember how you couldn't stop talking about your old-fashioned Virginia Christmases?"
"I guess I was a real pain in the ass, wasn't I?"
"Damn it, you're one thick-headed broad! Just tell me the goddamn truth. Do you like living here in New York with me?"
Leigh stared at her, then finally, her eyes dropped. “You're right. I hate New York. Living here, I mean. But Dee, you're my best friend, and I don't know what I would've done without your support these last months. And I don't want you to feel like I'm running out on you ... especially now while you're going through the treatments."
"Chicken-feathers! As my grandmother would've said. Sweetie, you're not running out on me. If anything, I'm kicking you out. For your own good. I want you to be happy. And I don't think you will be unless you're close to your kids. How did it go with them, by the way?"
"Not bad with Melissa and Aaron, but I'm afraid Mark is another story. He took one look at me and walked out. But I think you might be right. If I'm living there close, maybe it'll just be a matter of time before he comes around."
"You see. You know I'm right. Now, it's time for me to go into my noble act because I'm sacrificing myself so you can go live near your kids."
"But Dee, we'll still see each other, won't we?"
"Of course. I'll be staying with you when I come to Washington. You don't think I'd go to one of those stuffy hotels when I can stay with you in Georgetown, do you?"
"Boy, are you dreaming! How do you expect me to live in Georgetown? I don't even have a job."
"You will,” Deanna said. “In fact, I have the perfect one for you. Did I ever tell you about my friend, Ward Radcliffe? He owns an art gallery in Georgetown and it just so happens he's looking for someone to manage it. I'll give him a call tonight if you're interested. What do you think?"
"I think you're the best friend anyone could hope for,” Leigh said, blinking away grateful tears. “Why are you so good to me?"
"Hey, I take care of my friends.” Deanna smiled. “You're like a sister to me, Leigh. You know that. I'll get Ward's card for you. I'm sure he'll expect you to drop by as soon as you get back.” Deanna stood and moved toward the door leading to her office. At the threshold, she paused. “Oh, by the way, Ward is gay. That doesn't bother you, does it?” Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into her office. In a few seconds she was back, and still talking. “...and he mentioned that there's a vacant apartment in his building. A brownstone."
"But I can't afford to live in Georgetown!” Leigh protested.
A thin penciled eyebrow rose. “Really? Well, maybe you'll change your mind when you see the salary Ward is offering. My dear...” she faked a horrible British-gentry accent. “Ward Radcliffe just happens to be from a titled English family. He
claims he's linked by blood to the Queen Mother.” She resumed her normal Brooklynese. “In other words, he's loaded. You're going to love the man, Leigh. Everyone does. I swear, if you cut him with a knife, he'd bleed charisma. Now, how about if we get Jackson to serve us some lunch, and then I'll let you critique the first three chapters of my new novel.” A mischievous grin lit up her face as she added, “But only if you promise to like it."
Chapter 22
The yellow Volkswagon Rabbit slowly nosed its way up the winding snow-packed road leading to the Haukeland family home. Margit peered anxiously out the passenger window; she could barely wait for her first glimpse of Gunny.
Erik glanced over and grinned. “Settle down. It hasn't been that long."
"Two weeks! Remember, darling, I haven't been separated from my baby before. I just hope he wasn't a terror for your mother."
"I don't think you need to worry about Mother. She raised four of us, you know."
"That's true. But sometimes I believe Gunny can be equivalent to six boys his age."
Erik turned into the driveway of his parents’ house. “You worry too much, Margit. I'm sure he's been an angel."
As they were getting out of the car, the front door opened and Gunny stepped out onto the front porch. When he recognized his mother, he cried out in excitement and ran toward her. Grethe Haukeland followed behind, smiling. “Well, look at the two of you. Such lovely tans! Come on in now and I'll warm you up with some good black coffee."
Margit had already run over and scooped Gunny into her arms. He buried his head into the fur of her collar, clinging to her tightly. “How was he?” she asked Grethe over his silky golden-red hair.
"Oh, we had lots of fun! Of course, he asked, ‘Where's Mama?’ every day but when I told him you were on holiday with his new daddy, he went right back to playing."
Inside the house, Grethe took their coats as Gunny kept up a running stream of chatter about everything he'd done while she was away. Finally, the toddler turned to Erik and said, “Hi, Uncle Erik. Did you bring me something?"
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 23