East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Carole Bellacera

  "You tease! You enticed me for nothing."

  "You call this nothing?” His hand grabbed hers and pushed it against the stiff bulge pressing against the fabric of his trunks.

  Margit drew in a sharp breath. “God, Bjorn! You like living dangerously!” But she couldn't stop herself from running her fingers down the length of his erection. Grinning, Bjorn thrust himself against her hand. “Bjorn! Stop it!” She snatched her hand away and slid over to the other side of the hot tub.

  "You don't fool me,” Bjorn said with a wolfish grin. “You love the danger as much as I do."

  "Shut up. Here they come."

  His voice lowered. “Meet me here at two o'clock.” His eyes impaled her.

  She glared at him and then smiled up at Erik as he came through the door. “Come in. The water feels lovely."

  Erik stepped through the back door and a moment later, Anne-Lise followed, her expression tense. They climbed into the hot tub. Bjorn drew Anne-Lise to his side and kept an arm around her. “I got something for you, honey,” he whispered loud enough for Margit to hear. Gathering her to him, he kissed her long and hungrily. Margit felt the heat rise on her face. She knew Bjorn was just using his wife to relieve his pent-up desire ... desire that she, Margit, had aroused, but still, it irritated her. In retaliation, she snuggled against Erik and casually slid a hand onto his flat, bare stomach. A fleeting vision of a foursome crossed her mind and was dismissed. Erik was too straight to go for it. Anne-Lise, too. But she wouldn't put anything past Bjorn. Wild, innovative Bjorn. Oh, the sex they'd shared in the last five years.

  He drew away from his wife and spoke to Erik, “I asked Margit why she was wearing a swimsuit. Don't you think we should all be comfortable since we're staying here together?"

  "Oh, Bjorn, don't be silly!” After that long kiss, Anne-Lise looked considerably more cheerful than before. Now, she actually laughed.

  It wasn't until they'd climbed out of the hot tub that she brought up the subject of her moodiness. Erik and Bjorn had already gone upstairs and Anne-Lise and Margit were sitting at the breakfast bar in their robes, drinking hot tea.

  "I'm sorry if I've been surly since we left home.” Anne-Lise met Margit's eyes squarely. “To be honest, I wasn't pleased when Bjorn told me he'd invited you two along. I was hoping for a romantic holiday ... just the two of us."

  "I thought as much,” Margit said. “And you don't know how hard I tried to talk Erik out of accepting the invitation. But he just laughed. He said something like ‘those two have been married forever. Why do they need a romantic getaway?’ I suppose I should've simply refused to come along. I'm sorry, Anne-Lise."

  "No. It's not your fault. Not at all.” Anne-Lise stared sadly into the bottom of her tea cup. “Bjorn was adamant about inviting you. He just doesn't want to be alone with me.” When she looked up, her eyes swam with tears. “I think he's having an affair."

  Jesus, woman, don't turn on the waterfall, Margit thought, and squirmed uneasily. Did Bjorn have any idea what she was putting up with down here? Besides, what did Anne-Lise have to feel so sad about? He'd given her plenty of attention in the hot tub. The idiot!

  Margit forced a sympathetic expression. “Darling, why do you think such a thing? Didn't you notice how loving and attentive he was out there? See, already the mountain air is helping him to relax and forget all his worries back at the hospital.” Margit reached over and clasped Anne-Lise's hand. “By the time we leave here Sunday morning, you two will feel like newlyweds."

  "I hope you're right.” Anne-Lise smiled weakly. She stood up. “I think I just heard the shower stop. Thanks for making me feel better, Margit. I'll see you at dinner."

  Margit got up to pour herself another cup of tea. As she stirred a teaspoon of sugar into the amber liquid, a tiny smile came to her lips. Bjorn was right. She did enjoy this dangerous game. Two o'clock, he'd said. Should she? She felt a tell-tale tingle in the pit of her stomach.

  How could she not?

  * * * *

  Placing two fingers on Bjorn's half-opened lips, Margit smiled and eased down upon his engorged penis. The hot water bubbled around them, drowning his sharp intake of air. She gazed into his glazed eyes, barely discernible in the dim grayness of the early morning light, and took him inside her. His hands tightened on her waist. With the slightest of movements, he stroked her towards climax. It didn't take long. They were both ready. Had been ready before she'd slipped into the hot tub where he'd waited, fully erect with anticipation of their clandestine meeting.

  Her hands dug into his shoulders as he brought her to an earth-shattering climax just before reaching his own. They clung to each other, shuddering. Afterwards, she eased herself away from him and without speaking a word, climbed out of the hot tub.

  In the kitchen, she toweled off and then crept upstairs to their room. Moments later, her body damp from the tub and still tingling with the effects of Bjorn's love-making, she climbed into bed next to her sleeping husband.

  * * * *

  "Aren't you feeling any better this morning, love?"

  Erik bent over Margit with a solicitous frown. It was almost ten in the morning and she was still in bed. Her answer was a soft groan. She flopped over on her stomach.

  "Can I get something for you?” he asked.

  "No,” she mumbled. “Nothing helps when I get cramps like this."

  Erik sat on the edge of the bed and massaged the small of her back. “Is it time for your period already? I thought you just had it a couple of weeks ago."

  "Sometimes it comes early."

  "How about if I get you a cup of tea?"

  "No, sweetheart. Just let me sleep, okay?"

  He kissed one bare shoulder. “Of course, darling. I'll be downstairs if you need me."

  Margit stiffened. “But I thought you were going fishing."

  "I'm not going anywhere with you feeling sick, love. I want to stay here and take care of you."

  "Oh, Erik, I want you to go. It's not fair that you have to give up a day of fishing because I don't feel well.” Margit turned over and looked at him.

  "I'd much rather be with you than with a bunch of smelly cod."

  He looked so earnest, she had to struggle not to laugh. Poor dumb Erik. “Darling, I insist you go fishing."

  "I've made up my mind. I'm staying here with you."

  Margit realized it was time for drastic action. “For God's sake, Erik! I'm not dying! I just have cramps. And I want to be alone! Can you get that through that thick skull of yours?” To emphasize her point, she grabbed a pillow and hurled it to the floor.

  Erik stared at her thoughtfully. “I guess you've made that pretty clear.” He started toward the door, then stopped and looked back. “Premenstrual syndrome. I did a paper on that at university once. But this is the first time I've seen a classic example."

  "Erik..."

  "Okay. I'm going. I'll try and bring back a good catch for dinner tonight. Hope you feel better soon..."

  "I will,” she said. “Go on, Erik, I'll be fine."

  He went out and closed the door behind him. Margit relaxed. She'd give him a few minutes to be sure he was gone, then she'd get dressed. Bjorn would probably be back from dropping Anne-Lise off at the spa any minute now.

  * * * *

  The sun passed behind a cloud bringing a chill to the afternoon air. Margit sat up and drew on her heavy knit sweater. After a moment's search, she found her discarded panties and pulled them on, then adjusted her long floral print skirt so most of her legs were covered. She turned to look at Bjorn. He was asleep, his face mottled by the play of sun and shade through the leaves of the tree. She wondered why the cold hadn't awakened him. He was bare-chested, wearing only the jeans he'd pulled on after they'd made love for the second time. But the sudden crispness in the air didn't seem to bother him. Margit sighed.

  What was it about the man? Compared to Erik, he was nothing. His hair was receding and he was starting to develop a paunch from eating too many rich desserts.
Yet, she found him irresistible. Always had. Even before she'd married Gunvor, she'd been strangely attracted to the eldest Haukeland boy. At that time, she'd called it a ‘crush,’ never believing it could be more than that to him. As far as Bjorn was concerned, Margit Lovvig was simply a cute little neighbor who played with Erik and Dordei. Yet, today, she'd just spent three hours making love to him in the forest. And it had been extraordinary. Even better than that furtive coupling in the hot tub on Friday night.

  But now the position of the sun told her it was getting late. Erik might be coming back to the cabin at any time. Quickly, she nudged Bjorn's shoulder. “Hey, love! Wake up. We have get out of here."

  He sat up, blinking. “Christ! What did you do to me? I feel like I couldn't lift a kitten."

  Margit stood and adjusted her white peasant blouse so she was decently covered. “Don't blame it on me. It's not my fault you can't get enough."

  Bjorn grinned. “Right. And I suppose it's also not your fault you're an enticing little witch?” He stood and reached toward her head. “You have apple blossoms in your hair.” He plucked one out and let it fall to the ground. He kissed her softly. “You go on to the cabin. I have to go pick up Anne-Lise."

  Her hands slid slowly down his warm chest. “Okay. We'll see each other next week, right?"

  "You can count on it."

  Margit took her time descending from the hill, following an over-grown path that led to the cabin. When she stepped in through the back door of the cabin, she saw Erik sitting at the kitchen table. He jumped up when he saw her, a worried scowl on his face. “Margit! Where the hell have you been? And where's Bjorn and Anne-Lise? I've been waiting here for over an hour."

  Margit stared at him. Why was he acting so strangely? “The cramps went away so I went for a walk. Why are you home so early?"

  "That's not important. Margit, something has happened back home.” He came to her and took her hands, a haggard look in his eyes.

  Her stomach plunged, her blood running cold. “Oh, God! Not Gunny!"

  Grimly, he nodded. “He's in hospital. Along with Inger-Lise."

  * * * *

  Margit raced through the hospital doors with Bjorn and Anne-Lise close behind. At the emergency room desk, a young nurse referred them to the pediatric ward.

  "You see, they are fine,” Bjorn said to the two women in the elevator as it rose to the third floor. “They would never have taken them to Peds if they were still in danger."

  Margit didn't respond. Her eyes were glued to the numbers at the top of the elevator doors. He had to be right. If she lost Gunny, she knew she would die. White-faced, Anne-Lise held onto Bjorn's arm. She hadn't spoken a word in hours.

  The elevator doors slid open and Margit came face-to-face with Grethe Haukeland. The woman looked twenty years older than she had on the morning they'd left Gunny at her house. Her skin was a papery gray and her lovely white hair fell in unkempt strands around her face. She took one look at her son and melted into his arms, sobbing. Margit, in all the years she'd known Erik's mother, had never seen her lose her cool composure ... until now. Margit stood stiffly, unable to find her voice as she stared at the aged woman in Bjorn's arms. Finally, it was Anne-Lise who spoke.

  "Mother, how are the children?” Outwardly, her voice was quite calm, but Margit intuitively recognized the note of hysteria that lay just underneath. Because she felt it, too. Why wouldn't the old bat say something? She continued to bawl into Bjorn's shirt front.

  "Grethe, tell us!” Margit's command rang with authority, and slowly, Grethe pulled away from Bjorn to stare in wide-eyed anguish at her two daughters-in-law.

  "It's over,” she said clearly.

  Margit's heart lurched and Anne-Lise swayed on her feet.

  "What do you mean, Mother?” Bjorn shook her brusquely.

  Child-like, she looked up at him. “They'll be okay,” she whispered. “Oh, Bjorn, I'm so sorry it happened."

  Arne Haukeland appeared at their side and took his wife's arm. “Come and sit down, Grethe. You're distraught.” After settling her on a sofa in the lounge, he returned. “Your mother is quite exhausted. I'm afraid this accident has just done her in."

  "Father, will you just tell us how our children are?” Bjorn said.

  "They're fine. Sleeping, now,” Arne said. “Their stomachs were pumped, and they're showing no symptoms. The doctor wants to keep them overnight for observation, but he is sure they can be discharged tomorrow morning."

  "I want to see my son,” Margit said. “Where is he?"

  "Room 316. He's sharing a room with Inger-Lise."

  Bjorn looked at his father. “Tell us what happened."

  "It wasn't your mother's fault, Bjorn. She put them down for a nap, and then went to lie down. You know, she's been struggling with this cold lately. Hasn't been feeling in good form. The children simply got up and went into the bathroom to play doctor. I guess they saw her take some of the medicine for her cold, and decided to do the same."

  "But tablets!” said Bjorn. “Jesus, they taste so bad! Why would they eat them?"

  "I don't think they did,” Arne said. “The bottle was empty, but there were a few tablets scattered on the floor. I believe they flushed most of them down the toilet, but of course, we didn't want to take any chances."

  "Did the lab results of their stomach contents come back yet?"

  "Not that I know of.” Arne's face was solemn. “Bjorn, please don't blame your mother. She's beside herself with guilt as it is."

  Bjorn nodded. “I'll go talk to her."

  Margit had heard enough. There seemed to be more concern for the old woman than there was for Gunny and Inger-Lise. She wished Erik had flown back with them, but he'd insisted on driving Bjorn's car back to Oslo. Why couldn't he have left it? She needed him here.

  She glanced over at Grethe. Erik's mother sat stiffly, her hands in her lap, her eyes vacant. Feeling her gaze, she looked up at Margit, and her expression changed, became pleading. “I'm so sorry, Margit,” she whispered.

  Margit's lips tightened. She turned and walked down the hall towards Room 316.

  Chapter 27

  A pediatric nurse pushed open the door of room 316 and on rubber-soled shoes, moved over to the still form of Anne-Lise sitting near her daughter's bed. It was after midnight and the only light in the room came from a tiny rectangle near the door. The nurse bent down near her and murmured a few words Margit couldn't make out.

  Anne-Lise looked up blankly. “Oh. No, thank you. I'm fine. I just want to stay here with her."

  The nurse nodded and made her way over to Margit who had been dozing in the large chair next to Gunny's bed for the last few hours.

  "Mrs. Haukeland, why don't you go lie down in the empty room next door?"

  Margit shook her head. “No, I don't want to sleep. In fact, I think I'll go out into the lounge for a cup of coffee.” She stood up, wavering slightly from fatigue. After a moment, she moved toward the door and paused at the foot of Inger-Lise's bed. “Anne-Lise, would you like me to bring you some coffee?"

  Anne-Lise smiled wearily. “No, thanks. I'll get some later."

  Margit stepped into the hallway and walked slowly down to the lounge. She winced at the bright light in the room and waited for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she saw Grethe slouched in the corner of the sofa, dozing uneasily. Occasionally, she gave a twitch in her sleep as if she were reliving a nightmare. Margit stared at her a moment, indifferent to the woman's pain. She had no time or sympathy for her mother-in-law's guilt. Her own was enough for her to handle.

  It wasn't Grethe Haukeland's fault that her son had almost died. It was her own. God was punishing her because she was having an affair with Bjorn. There was no doubt in her mind about that. She and Bjorn were being punished equally. Both of them had almost lost a child. For some obscure reason, they had been spared. Margit took that as a very serious warning. She knew it was time to face up to the way she'd been living.

  She went to the coffee machin
e and inserted a coin. Behind her, she heard a footfall.

  "Margit, are you all right?” It was Bjorn.

  She looked over her shoulder, then turned back to reach for her coffee. “Yes.” Carefully, she moved to a chair and sat down. Bjorn settled himself into another nearby.

  "I just received the lab report. It seems there were only traces of the antihistamine in the children's stomachs. So, you see, they were never in any real danger."

  Margit didn't react to the news, but just looked down into the strong black coffee in the Styrofoam cup.

  "Margit?"

  She looked up at Bjorn's concerned face. “It was all wrong,” she said, glancing over at his sleeping mother. Her voice lowered. “It was because of us, you know."

  "Margit, you're still in shock. You just need to get some sleep."

  "I don't want to sleep,” she said. “Bjorn, if Gunny had died, I would've killed myself.” Her voice was flat and emotionless. His hand reached out to cover hers. She flinched and jerked away. “It's over. I'm going to try to make amends. Be a good wife to Erik.” Her eyes met his. “And you must do the same for Anne-Lise. Please, don't ever approach me again."

  "Honey ... I need you."

  Margit shook her head. “No, you don't. It's just a habit. And we must break it. Bjorn, I'm begging you. Let me go."

  He stared at her a long moment. “If that's really what you want, I have no choice. But Margit, I think once you're over the shock, you'll change your mind. We're addicted to each other. You know it."

  Margit placed her nearly-full coffee cup on the end table nearby and stood up. “No, we're not, Bjorn. We're addicted to the danger.” And quickly, she left the lounge.

  * * * *

  On the Fourth of July, a Canadian cold front swept into the Washington area, bringing a welcome relief from the string of stifling, sultry days that had been holding residents hostage to their air conditioners. It was after midnight. Leigh and Knut lay in bed under a satin comforter she'd pulled out of the closet because of the cool snap. Outside the window, firecrackers popped intermittently and occasionally the whistle of a cherry bomb shattered the night from a few streets away. Raucous shouts and noisy laughter erupted in the street, and a few minutes ago, a scuffle outside their window had disturbed them. Obviously, some of Georgetown's inhabitants had no intention of halting their merrymaking until the wee hours.