by P. G. Forte
Nick was silent for a moment. “Yeah, Joey,” he said at last. “That’s what I’m talking about. Marriage. That’s definitely Dan’s problem, all right. Hell, that’s always the problem, isn’t it?”
Well, hallelujah! It looked like maybe the boy had seen the light, after all. “Well, I guess it could be a problem for some of us,” Joey said, ignoring the startled looks the tailors exchanged with each other. This had to be the strangest pre-wedding conversation they’d ever heard, Joey thought. It was certainly a first for him. But if Nick had already figured out that this was a mistake, why were they still trying on tuxes? “You know, Nick, if that’s really the way you feel, it’s not too late to call this off,”
Nick shot him a look that shut him up fast. “Joey,” he warned in a voice that brooked no argument. “Do not go there. Capisce?”
* * *
Marsha sat propped up in her bed, reading the book that Sam had lent her. Shadow was curled at the end of the mattress, a warm, soft weight against her feet. The mug of chrysanthemum tea on her nightstand perfumed the air. At the moment, she was reading about resistance and support—an interesting concept, she was sure. And one she felt certain she would have come closer to understanding by now, if she could just get her mind to stay on the subject, instead of drifting back over the events of the day…
“Hey there, angel. I got something for you.” Sam’s voice had sounded loud in the empty shop that morning. Marsha had looked up quickly from the tray of crystals she was marking down for Saturday’s sale. She glanced around, relieved to see that no one seemed to be paying any attention to them.
“Oh. Uh, hi,” she stammered, wondering irritably when she was going to get over the awkward fluttery sensation she seemed to get whenever he was around. It had always been ridiculous, but they were going on four days now, and she would swear the feeling was only getting worse.
“Don’t worry,” he said, as he lowered his voice. “I’ve got my magic invisibility pouch, remember? No one can see me but you.” She flushed at the amused, knowing gleam in his eyes. He’d seen her looking around.
“Here,” he said, extending a small paper bag toward her.
She reached for it reluctantly. “What is it?”
“Just the anti-virus software I promised Frank. And a little something for you, as well.”
Curious, she took a peek inside. “Mousetraps?” She set the bag down on the counter as if it might burn her. “I don’t know, Sam. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”
“Well, when you do decide, you’ll have them. Besides, I figure the boys can handle setting them if you’re too squeamish to do it.”
“This is not squeamishness. This is a moral issue.”
He smiled, “Right. But it’s your issue, doll. Not mine. So, think of this as a kind of moral end-play. You get the traps you need, and I get the karma I don’t believe in anyway.”
“Well, thanks. I guess. What do I owe you for them?”
“Uh-uh-uh.” He shook his head playfully. “You see, you can’t pay me for them, doll. That’d just transfer the moral culpability back to you, in the unlikely event some misguided little rodent decides it’s his dharma to get himself killed in one of them.”
“Hmm. I guess it’s lucky for me that you’ve got all the fine points figured out. You think maybe you were a Jesuit in your last life, Sam?”
“A priest?” He grimaced. “Jeez, I hope not. I’m already living like one, and the idea of history repeating itself is entirely too terrifying to contemplate this early in the game. You gotta at least let me hold onto my hopes for a little while longer.”
“Uh-huh. So how about I buy you breakfast? You see any problem with that?”
“Nope.” His teeth had flashed in a wide smile. “Sounds like a perfectly acceptable moral alternative to me.”
Resistance and support. Marsha pondered the concept a little more. Resistance seemed to be a barrier the market couldn’t move through. But once it got past it, by some means that were not entirely clear, resistance then became support. And support was... well, supportive, she guessed. Something strong enough to stand on. Or build on. Or something.
Like a ceiling was a barrier, until you climbed the stairs to get past it, at which point the ceiling below you was now the floor?
But maybe she was missing the point.
Frank looked surprised when she’d handed him the discs Sam had sent. “That’s so cool. I can’t believe he remembered.”
Marsha saw the remark hovering on his brother’s lips, and quelled it with a glance. “Here, Jesse. You can be in charge of these.” She handed him the bag with the mousetraps.
“Ah, hekka cool!” Jesse stared happily into the bag, and Marsha winced at the twinge of apprehension in her gut.
“Now, remember,” she warned him. “I haven’t decided that I actually want to use them, yet. So—”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Jesse had said impatiently. “But it’s still really rad.”
Marsha sighed. Well, she guessed that even the sons of a vegetarian pacifist needed the promise of a little life and death drama, at times. She had put down her tea and was actually reaching for the phone, before it struck her that it hadn’t rung. Yet. She put the receiver to her ear anyway. This was the one thing that she just couldn’t seem to get used to, and to tell the truth, sometimes she scared even herself with it.
“Hello?”
She’d picked the phone up before it had rung even once, startling Sam who’d been expecting at least a few seconds delay. “Oh, hey,” he said, recovering quickly. “I was just calling to see if Frank managed to get the software installed okay.” He paced restlessly around the cabin as he talked. He was really just calling to hear her voice, but that was exactly the kind of thing he couldn’t say.
“Uh... yeah. I think so.” He felt warmed by the low chuckle in her voice when she continued, “And Jesse was absolutely thrilled with the mousetraps, by the way.”
“Well, good.” He stared out the dining room window, the little glade was illuminated by the light of the nearly full moon. “I uh, kind of missed having dinner with you tonight,” he admitted hesitantly, listening to the shocked silence that hummed through the phone.
“Did you?” she asked at last.
“Yes.”
“Me, too.” Her voice was low and quiet, but he felt a deep satisfaction spread through him anyway. Until she continued, “So, how did things go at the station today?” which was just about the last thing he wanted to talk about.
“Well, it’s going to take a little while. I’ll go back again tomorrow.”
“So, will I see you for breakfast, then?”
“Actually, I was planning on doing some work out here in the morning.” He winced at the embarrassment he could hear in her voice as she answered.
“Oh, right. Of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“So, could we meet for lunch, instead?” he asked quickly, grasping at the first thing that came to mind. “A picnic, perhaps? I thought maybe we could do some bird watching.”
“You’re interested in bird watching?” Her voice rose several octaves in surprise.
“What can I tell you?” he admitted ruefully. “It kinda surprised me, too.”
But it wasn’t his sudden, inexplicable interest in ornithology that surprised him, Sam thought as he hung up the phone a few minutes later; it was the way being here had short circuited his common sense. It was bad enough he had to divide his time between working on Harry’s computer, and working on the one down at the police station. But at least he had a reason, and a pressing need to deal with both of those issues at once.
It was only a matter of time before Harry figured out something was wrong. And it was sheer luck that the cops hadn’t yet located another computer technician to assist them. Either scenario spelled disaster.
And spending time with Marsha, giving her another opportunity to read his mind and learn all his secrets, was courting disaster of another kind. A p
icnic? What the hell was he thinking? But he knew the answer to that, didn’t he?
He was bewitched. Just the hint of loneliness in her voice tugged at his heart. Tomorrow would be wasted anyway if he were so distracted with thoughts of her unhappiness that he couldn’t concentrate on the tasks at hand. So one way or the other, he was screwed. He’d have to pull an all-nighter, just to keep himself on track.
“Ah, lady, you’ll be the death of me, yet,” he sighed tiredly. He’d better put some water on for tea, he had a long night ahead of him.
On the way into the kitchen, he glanced out the window, and his breath caught in his throat. Under cover of darkness, two deer had ventured into the glade. Sam felt the hair rise on the back of his own neck as he contemplated their vulnerability. If he were someone who wished them harm, they would be easy targets.
They were aware of the risks they were taking, too. He could read it in their movements. If they’d wanted to remain safe, they should have kept to the woods. They should have stayed hidden. But they were drawn by their need for food and fresh water, drawn by the sustenance they knew this place could provide.
He understood their need, perhaps a little too well. Probably there were other glades, other riverbanks they could have gone to; places even more secluded, more remote, safer. But maybe none so sweet.
And that was something else he’d come to understand in the last few days – or maybe it was something he’d always known, but had forgotten until now. The sweeter the fruit, the higher the branch – and the greater the chance you’d fall. But had knowing that ever made a difference? Probably not. There were some things in life that were worth almost any risk.
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Twenty One
* * * *
By Friday afternoon, Marsha was more than ready for the weekend. She felt edgy, unbalanced and more out of sync than ever before. Too bad she still had tomorrow’s sale to get through, she thought, as she headed home from work, but at least she’d have Sunday off. In previous years, when she and Celeste had both worked in the store full-time, they would keep the store open for special events, such as Sunday’s Harvest Festival, but alone, she just couldn’t handle it.
She knew Lucy would probably help out, if she asked her to, but her role as partner had always pretty much consisted of creating and maintaining the garden, as well as providing most of the herbs, oils, soaps and candles that they sold. Besides, Lucy’s plate was already pretty full. She’d looked as stressed out as Marsha had ever seen her, when she stopped by the shop this morning.
“I’m telling you, Marsha, you would not believe the week I’m having,” Lucy had said with a groan. “I seriously think I may be the very last bastion of sanity in my entire family. God, what a chilling thought that is.” She’d abandoned her usual espresso in favor of a super-grande double latte with extra foam.
Marsha frowned at the glass dubiously. It was always a bad sign when Lucy chose a drink that was mostly warm milk for her morning beverage. “Well, cheer up, Luce. In another week Scout will be part of the family, too. Maybe then the odds will improve.”
Lucy’s look turned even more grim. “I wouldn’t count on it. Right now, Scout’s acting as weird as the rest of them. You’ll notice she’s not here this morning, right?” She paused to down a healthy swallow, then continued, “The theory most popular at the moment is that she’s off meeting with her secret lover, even as we speak.”
“Her what?” Marsha felt her mouth drop open. “Lucy, you can’t be serious?”
“Me?” Lucy scowled at her. “You think this is my idea? Please. I’m like the lone voice of reason crying out in the wilderness of lunacy here. All I know is she supposedly got an upsetting phone call the other night from some mysterious guy. And then, she and Nick have apparently been arguing ever since my aunt got here. Of course, my money says it’s because my aunt is staying with them that they’re arguing, but I can’t tell her that now, can I?”
“No, I suppose not.” Marsha shook her head. “Is anything else is wrong?”
“Well, let’s see. Nick is giving the best impersonation of someone with cold feet I’ve ever seen. They ought to give him an award for it. Hell, he’s almost got me believing he’s having second thoughts. And Joey, of course, is totally convinced of it. He keeps calling me with hot news flashes about all the women Nick’s been seen around town with. Including Lauren. Can you imagine? Like there’s any way those two are getting back together!”
“What does Dan think of all this?”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know what Dan is thinking about anything these days. I don’t even know where he is half the time.”
She paused, and then laughed humorlessly. “I can’t imagine how much worse things might have gotten if my Aunt Violet hadn’t gone and broken her hip. My parents and Nick’s mom are all going up to San Francisco tomorrow to see her. Thank God. And they aren’t coming back ‘til just before the wedding. If it weren’t for that, I honestly don’t think we’d make it to next Saturday without someone coming to blows. I tell you Marsha, it’s a sad state of affairs when the only thing you’ve got to be thankful for is a catastrophic accident.”
Lucy had sighed so melodramatically that Marsha couldn’t help grinning. She was still grinning just thinking about it when she turned down her block that evening. Her grin faded fast, however, when she recognized Alex’s car parked in her driveway. She parked the van on the street and headed for her front door, tension twisting her stomach into knots.
She found him seated on one of her couches, wearing an enigmatic smile that sparked all sorts of unpleasant associations. The silence in the house tingled warnings.
“What are you doing here, Alex? Where are the boys?”
“I sent them to the movies,” he told her.
“You did what?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why?”
“I wanted to talk to you. Alone. Come sit down, love.”
“I don’t want to sit,” Marsha answered, crossing her arms, defensively. “What do you want to talk about, anyway?”
“Us, of course,” Alex replied, his smile glimmering warmer.
Marsha could only stare in amazement. Lucy was right, she decided. The entire world had gone mad. It really was the only explanation possible.
“You’re crazy,” she told him flatly. “There is no us. Not anymore. Now get out of my house. You can either pick the boys up at the movies, or you can come back and get them later. But I don’t want you here.”
“Marsha, I know you think I treated you badly. But that’s no reason we can’t still be friends, is it?”
“Isn’t it? That’s funny; I rather thought it was.”
He got up, and Marsha watched in horrified fascination as he walked slowly toward her.
She swallowed hard. Once she would have welcomed this, and been foolish enough to believe it was real. But that was so long ago, it seemed a dream.
As he stopped in front of her, she shivered. He was still smiling, and his voice was warm and soft, but there was a coldness in his eyes that told a different story. “Ah, now love, don’t be that way.” Marsha flinched as he ran one finger down her arm from shoulder to elbow. “I can understand how lonely you must be. The boys told me about this new boyfriend of yours.”
“New? Oh.” Was this about Sam? She laughed grimly. “Jealous, are we? That must be a novel experience for you, Alex. How does it feel?”
“Don’t be absurd.” The warmth fell from his voice like shed skin. “What would I have to be jealous of, after all?”
Reluctantly, she scanned his aura. No, he wasn’t jealous. Not really. It was just that the hold she’d tried to put on his mind and his emotions, all those years ago, had worked in ways she’d never stopped to consider. Taunting her was more than a habit; he had a sick addiction to the pain he caused her.
He could sense her indifference, and knew he was losing his prey.
“What’s this all about, then?” she aske
d softly. There had to be a way to make him see what he was doing, didn’t there? Some chance they could both be released from the spell that bound them? Some way to make him stop? “What do you care who I get involved with?”
“I don’t care,” he snapped. “I just think it’s a shame to see you so desperate for it that you’ll throw yourself at the first man who pays you any attention.”
That hurt, but she was not about to let him know how much. She was tired of bleeding for his amusement. Surely she’d paid enough for her mistakes by now? “So you’ve come to offer your services? Gee, thanks, but no thanks.”
Alex snorted. “Not bloody likely. Why would I do something like that?”
Why, indeed. Marsha could read the tension and frustration in him, the need to control her. To hurt her. She could read all the dark, twisted bitterness that she had put there. But little else. No tenderness. No caring. No passion. And nothing like the warmth she’d felt so clearly from Sam.
Sam. She remembered the gleam in his eyes when he looked at her, the laughter that lit up his face when she teased him. She smiled.
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “Be sensible, Marsha. Why don’t you ask yourself what this man could possibly want from you? You can’t be so naïve you think he finds you attractive.”
“Why not?” she asked, lifting her chin a little. “You did. Once.”
He looked her up and down coldly. “Well, you were a good deal younger then, weren’t you? And also... what? Twenty pounds thinner? Thirty? He must be after something else. Because unless he’s into scar tissue, why would he— oh, of course.” His laugh mocked her. “He hasn’t actually seen the goods yet, has he? Tell me, what was your plan? Make love in the dark – and then scuttle away before he has a chance to open his eyes and see what he’s done?”
That time his jibes found their mark. It had always been Alex who’d insisted on having the lights off. Was that why? “That really isn’t any of your business, is it?”