by Susan Wiggs
“How was your day?” he asked.
Or asked her about her day?
He took Opal’s leash from her and they started walking. “Let’s see. I vetted a real estate contract, wrote some letters in legalese, filed a brief with the superior court, consulted with a client. Atticus Finch I’m not.”
“Nope, you wear lipstick, and you dress better.”
Today’s client had been Bo Crutcher, although Noah wouldn’t hear that from Sophie. It was a well-known fact that Bo—whose legal name was, to his great humiliation, Bojangles—liked his beer, and while under its influence, tended to make promises he never meant to keep. His current dilemma was to make certain he was not the father of a local girl’s baby, despite her assertion to the contrary.
The workday was over, though. Worries didn’t stalk her home the way her job in the ICC had.
The path wound through the deep woods in the hills behind his farm. He pointed out some of the landmarks of his boyhood—a hickory tree where he’d once built a tree house, and a grove of sugar maples where he’d collected sap for maple syrup, winning a coveted 4-H club prize for his efforts. There was a rock he’d hit while tobogganing, splitting his head open, and the stream where he collected frogs’ eggs in the spring to watch them turn into tadpoles. It was easy to imagine him in this setting, a boy at home in his world. No wonder he’d turned out to be such a well-adjusted adult.
“What’s that look?” he asked her. “Did I say something wrong?”
“Lord, no. It just occurred to me that since we’ve met, I’ve been all take and no give.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. I’ve been so focused on remaking my life that I’ve never asked you, never wondered…what do you want, Noah? What do you dream about?”
He thought for a moment. “A life that makes me happy. A life that makes sense.”
“That’s too simple.”
“Maybe.” He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. “Watch your step,” he said, indicating a depression in the snow. “We’re crossing a stream.”
“I don’t see the stream,” she said.
“You just crossed it. Be really quiet, and you’ll hear.”
He was right. She held very still and listened, detecting a faint trickle of water, invisible beneath the layers of snow.
“It’s just starting to thaw,” he said.
“And I’m starting to freeze. Let’s head back.” She looked around the quiet woods and smiled. “You can’t imagine how different this is from what I used to do after work.”
“Yeah?”
“In the first place, I almost never came home before dark. On the way back to my apartment, I used to stop at a deli for a rollmops.”
“What’s a rollmops?”
“My usual takeout dinner—pickled herring wrapped around a cucumber and served on a bun with onion.”
He made a gagging sound.
“Hey, don’t knock it. I found it convenient, something to munch on while I spent the evening working some more.”
“Wait a minute, so you came home from work and then you worked at home?”
She tried not to cringe, remembering her lonely existence. “It filled the time for me.”
“What did you do for fun?”
“Fun?”
“You know, partying, going out?”
“Tariq—my friend and colleague—liked going to clubs. Very old-school. I rarely went with him, though.” She laughed. “Ever heard of a circle party?”
“You’re not talking about the kind that takes place in a boys’ locker room.”
“Noah.”
“Just checking. Is this a Dutch thing?” He made a hang-ten sign with his gloved hand. “Like, dude, circle party—”
“Well, they love inviting a buitenlander—a foreigner—to these things. But honestly, it’s a bit like…I don’t know. Watching paint dry. See, everyone sits in a circle in folding chairs, and we all shake hands, and have lukewarm tea or coffee and bad cake, meet the aunts and cousins, Oma and Opa and the little ones, and we tell each other everything is just gezellig.”
“Gezellig.”
“It’s sort of hard to translate. It means…nice. Cozy and cordial, I suppose. You know, gezellig. A circle party goes on for hours.”
“I’d rather eat a rollmops.”
“Exactly.”
“But tonight, I’m making spaghetti.”
“Is that an invitation?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. So get your gezellig ass in gear.”
When they returned to the house, he didn’t even pretend to start dinner, but made love to her instead, and she didn’t bother trying to resist. What she felt—desire, raw lust, whatever she wanted to call it—easily pushed past her customary caution. He was like the water under the snow, a secret spring, setting something free inside her. Like a couple of revved-up teenagers, they made out on the living-room sofa, eventually migrating to the bed and finally the deep, old-fashioned bathtub.
“Do you have any idea,” he asked her much later, “how crazy I am about you?”
She was in his bedroom, in the middle of getting dressed in the semidark. “No idea,” she said. “Remind me.”
He took hold of the sweater she had just pulled on. “Crazy enough to do it all over again,” he said, shimmying the soft cashmere up over her rib cage.
She was inches from going along with him. “Do you find it a little discomfiting, doing this in the same house where your parents—”
He stopped her with a kiss. “My mind doesn’t go there. But I like the idea that there’s love in this house.” He laughed at the expression on her face. “And yes, I did say that. I said the L-word.”
Love.
She tugged her sweater down. “You shouldn’t use a word like that carelessly.”
“Who said I’m being careless? I love you. It’s simple.”
“You can’t know that,” she said, folding her arms tightly in front of her.
“I know what I know. You’re still trying to pretend we’re nothing but a hookup, but you’re wrong. We’ve both been around enough to know we’ve got something here. And yeah, it’s new and unexpected and sudden and all that. Doesn’t mean it’s not real. This is turning into something. Trust me on that.”
“It’s…too soon.” She was so startled she didn’t know what else to say.
“It’s right now. And right now, Sophie Bellamy, this very minute, I’m crazy in love with you.”
It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. And as declarations went, it was what some attorneys might call a squinting statement. It looked both ways, and gave itself a loophole. Right now…this very minute.
He laughed again. “You take the term overthinking to a new level.”
“How would you know I’m overthinking this?”
“I can practically hear the gears grinding in your brain. But don’t worry. There’s a way to fix that.” His hand slid smoothly up under her sweater. He had an assured—and now familiar—touch, yet she always got the sense that he was surprised and turned-on as though touching her for the first time.
This time, she didn’t resist, and for the next hour, she didn’t think at all. Moreover, she didn’t have to continue the dialogue he’d opened with that one little word. Still, she couldn’t stop the emotions from welling up when he touched her with such tenderness. Here was something she had been missing in her life and until Noah, she had not known precisely what it was. Now she did. There was a special grace and power in holding someone and being held, a feeling of both strength and vulnerability, a sense of safety. Sophie felt it now, unexpectedly and unmistakably, with Noah.
In The Hague, she had friends and colleagues, but they were not the sort of people who could fill her up with such sweetness, with the feelings Noah stirred. The lack of a grand romance in her life had never been some huge issue or problem with her. Except in the sense that she didn’t believe she had room for such a thing. She didn’t want to wake up e
very morning thinking, I need someone to hold me.
But now, with Noah’s arms around her, she knew a part of her needed this connection like air and water. He had the ability to see into her heart, and for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, she didn’t feel so alone. She finally knew what love felt like, true romantic love, and its power was devastating. It scared her to need him so much. She was supposed to be making it on her own, wasn’t she?
“Enough,” she murmured, dragging herself back from the blissful edge of a postcoital nap. “You promised me dinner.”
“Maybe it was a clever ploy to lure you to bed.” He grinned and sat up, the sheet falling away to reveal a physique that nearly made her change her mind about getting up. There should be a law, she thought, requiring all men to train for Ironman triathlons.
With an effort of will, she left the bed and hurriedly dressed. Then she fixed her hair and put on fresh lipstick, pausing to study her image in the mirror.
“What’s that look?” asked Noah.
“Shopping with Daisy was certainly fun, but I’m not so sure about this new wardrobe of jeans and skimpy sweaters.”
“What’s wrong with skimpy? I like skimpy.”
“It looks ridiculous on a woman my age.”
“You look hot. Don’t knock it. Your daughter has good taste. I hope she picked out something dressy for you, too.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s a dance on Saturday night, at the fire hall. The whole town shows up for it.”
She frowned at the mirror again. “It sounds…fun.”
“Trust me, it’s no Dutch circle party.”
“Oh, Noah. It’s just not really a good time for me to—” She stopped, took a deep breath. “Noah, I don’t want my kids to know. About us.” There, she’d said it, finally. She didn’t let herself look at him in the mirror.
“Why not?”
“I came here for them. Not for…this. Not to meet someone, start something. They wouldn’t understand.” Finally she turned to look at him. “I don’t understand.”
“Quit worrying. I’m into you. I think you’re into me. Any kid can understand that. What are you really afraid of, Sophie?”
Of how much it’s going to hurt when it’s over. “Noah, I don’t—”
The doorbell rang, followed by the sound of stomping feet. “Yo, Noah!”
“Saved by the bell.” He kissed her, briefly and hard, one last time. The bell rang again. “The guys are here.”
“You knew they were coming?”
“Sure. I promised them spaghetti, and we’re practicing afterward.” He picked up a plaid flannel shirt, sniffed it.
“Nice of you to tell me. Now I’m trapped,” she said. “They’re going to know we’re sleeping together…”
“I don’t know about you, but I didn’t sleep a wink. Don’t worry, it’s not like they’re going to tell your kids or anything.” Apparently deeming the shirt clean, he put it on.
“You know what I mean, and so will they.”
“They’re my friends. They like you. They’ll be happy for us.”
“I know. But it’s just…I prefer to keep this—us—private.” She spied a flash of hurt and anger in his eyes. “Because of me,” she added hastily. “Not you. Because I’m new in town, and all people know about me is that I’m the ex-wife of the sainted Greg Bellamy, the woman who abandoned her children to live the high life in Europe. All I need is for people to find out I’m sleeping around.”
“You’re not sleeping around. You’re sleeping with me.” He found the cap he liked to wear, bill backward, when he played the drums.
“Yes, but—”
“Look, you didn’t come back here to be a nun. You came back to be with your kids. And, I assume, to have a life. Besides, look at me. I’m a catch.” He spread his arms in a comical pose. He had the fashion sense of John Deere and a smile that took her breath away. And there was something about him that warmed her heart and made her feel good about herself, as though she could face anything. As though she could take on the world.
Her evenings used to consist of sitting alone in front of the computer, going over cases. Now she spent her evenings with friends or family, or with a man who might have just said he loved her.
Twenty-Six
Sophie organized an afternoon at Mohonk Mountain House with Max and Daisy. Some of her fondest memories of being with them revolved around trips they’d taken over the years, when she’d shown them new places and introduced them to new experiences. She liked to remember that they had once been a happy family. She wanted to believe they could be happy together again. She wanted the two of them alone together, because she had some things to discuss.
She also had a surprise for them. Tariq was in New York on court business, and had arranged to meet them at the historic preserve. Sophie had been working hard at making a new life for herself, but part of her missed her other life desperately—missed Tariq, most of all.
The resort had been built by the Smiley family in the 1860s, and, to this day, still belonged to their heirs. While studying international law, Sophie had been an occasional guest at the resort. It was America’s ultimate castle, with the grandest of salons and guest rooms, stables and a maze, an ice rink, formal gardens, a golf course, miles of trails through the Mohonk Preserve, and heart-stirring vistas through every window. Perched high atop the granite bluffs that towered over Lake Mohonk, it was a combination of Disney’s Magic Kingdom, Mad Ludwig’s castle and a vintage postcard, glittering with snow. She knew her children would have the same awed reaction to the place that she’d had.
As they surveyed the towering cluster of cut stones and spires, she watched their faces light with wonder. Daisy was grown, and Max nearly there, as well, but that Christmas-morning look reminded her that they would always be her children. She regarded them both, trying to see past Daisy’s fragile beauty, past Max’s studied nonchalance. Regrets washed over her in a wave. She wished she could turn back time, be there for them when they needed her, pay closer attention this time around. But regrets were a slow poison. She could only go forward. She focused on Charlie snuggled in his carrier, fast asleep from the drive. The chance to watch him grow up was such a gift.
“Mohonk means ‘the lake in the sky,’” Sophie said. “Currier and Ives did a series of prints of this place. I’ve been dying to show you around.”
In the vast library, amid soaring bookcases accessed by wheeled ladders, she showed them portraits of presidents and dignitaries who had stayed here. “The founders were two brothers,” she explained. “Albert and Alfred Smiley. They were Quakers, dedicated to world justice and peace. About a hundred years ago, the Permanent Court of Arbitration was created right here, maybe even in this room.”
Daisy regarded her suspiciously. “And we should care about this because….”
“Because the PCA is now headquartered in The Hague,” Sophie said. “I thought you’d be interested to know I was offered a position as an adjunct to that court.” She looked around the enormous library, and imagined she could practically feel the old collections breathing with wisdom. “I turned it down, and the next day, I came back here to you two and Charlie.”
“Do you wish you’d taken the job?” Max asked, visibly stiffening as though bracing himself for a blow.
“No, I don’t. In fact, I’m incredibly glad I’m here now.” She paused. “I’m going to be looking for my own place in Avalon.”
There. She’d said it. Declared that she was no longer a visitor, but a full-time resident. A full-time mom. She was committed to this new life, to them.
“What kind of place?” asked Max.
She wasn’t sure what he was asking. “I’m going to buy a home,” she said.
“Where?”
“In Avalon.”
“At the lake?”
“I don’t know. I have an appointment with a real estate agent next week. Why, do you have a preference?”
“Yeah, I prefer where you a
re now.”
“It’s really nice there, Mom,” Daisy said. She went to the window, aimed her camera at the snowy scenery outside. “This is amazing.”
“What about Opal? She stays at Noah’s when you’re not home. Where will she go if you move?” Max asked.
“Soon she’ll be big enough to stay home by herself,” Sophie told him. Truth be told, Sophie would miss living near Noah, too, but this was about her family. “If I get a place in town, you won’t need to ride the school bus to come see me,” she pointed out.
“I don’t mind the bus.”
This was new. Initially, Max had declared that he hated the bus. Maybe he’d made some friends on the route. “It’ll be fine, Max,” she reassured him. “Promise. Okay?”
“Okay.” He went to study a ship in a bottle.
Sophie took a deep breath. The news about finding a house was the easy part. She spent several nervous moments working up to the topic. “I wanted to ask you something about your hockey game tomorrow.”
“What about it?” Max asked.
“I’m bringing a friend to watch the game with me.” She’d thought about it throughout the previous night and all day, and she’d come to the conclusion that Noah deserved public status. He’d never been less than wonderful to her, and she was through trying to hide their relationship. It was silly, juvenile and pointless.
Max kept his attention on the ship in a bottle, but Daisy lowered her camera and turned toward her mother. Sophie was nervous about explaining Noah to her kids. She told herself not to be silly, that she’d kept company with royalty, scoundrels, great men and criminals in conjunction with her job. She’d never had trouble before, yet the moment her heart was at stake, she choked. “Would that be okay, Max?”
“Depends. Who’re you bringing?”
She glanced at Daisy, who looked intrigued. “Noah Shepherd. Do you mind?”
He shrugged. “Fine with me. He’s told me before he likes hockey.”
“Moron,” Daisy said. “He likes Mom.”