Come Alive (The Cityscape Series)

by Jessica Hawkins

He cleared his throat. “A lot. But not impossible. It helps that they’re willing to work with us on the sale price. David says he works by you and can drop you after.”

  “What if he has plans or something?”

  “Liv, I can’t,” he said, disappearing back into the hall. “Gotta go.”

  I twisted my hands nervously. Footsteps ascended, and David’s voice resounded throughout the second floor. The voices drifted to the master bedroom and then back down the hall. I was still stuck to the same spot in one of the spare rooms when they entered.

  “David, I’m so sorry,” I blurted. “You’re already doing us this big favor, and now you have to give me a ride.”

  “It’s no problem. I insisted,” he said before turning back to the appraiser, who was making notes.

  He looked up and waved his clipboard at me. “Well Mrs. Wilson, would you like to have a seat and go over this?”

  “Um, I’m not really – can you just talk to my husband?”

  “Already did, there are just a few more things I’d like to cover, but I’ll e-mail him.”

  “Can you CC me?” David asked, handing him a card. “Since I promised to help.”

  “Sure. I’ll be in touch.” He looked between the two of us before turning away.

  I crossed my arms over my breasts, and David stuck his hands in his pockets. “The issues aren’t just surface deep, but it’s not the worst I’ve seen. The owners are giving you an extremely fair price. It’s a steal. Honestly, they probably don’t realize the value.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But most importantly, it’s obvious that you love it.”

  “I do. I think I really do.”

  “Follow me.”

  My heels clunked on the wooden steps as we descended. Back on the ground floor, he removed his jacket and set it on the covered couch. He rolled up his sleeves and crouched down to pull on a floorboard. My eyes followed as he walked over to a doorway and inspected it. He was talking as he moved, but I only heard the bass of his voice, felt the vibration of it inside me.

  I realized in that moment that I never should have gone to the house. That I would never be able to erase the image of him there.

  The home that I couldn’t grasp before began to form in my mind. The room was sylvan, rustic, and smelled of cedar like David. It glowed with a blazing fire on a cool autumn evening. Abundant, leafy maple trees just out back rainbowed from green to yellow to red. David was there, lifting me off my feet in a consuming hug after walking through the front door.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heels of my hands into my sockets. Pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Bill and I had seen almost ten places since we’d started looking and not one had been right. I pictured Bill at the apartment on our rundown couch, yelling at the TV. I pictured him in the late morning, goofing off as he fixed me breakfast. I’d never felt at home in the apartment, because I knew we’d eventually move somewhere permanent.

  Davena’s words from our last moments together floated back to me. ‘It’s about whom you’re making a home with.’

  It wasn’t that the places we’d seen hadn’t felt like home. It was that Bill didn’t feel like home.

  “Come here,” David said, ripping me from my heartbreaking realization. I obeyed with my eyes glued to him. “You could put built-in seating there under that window and a breakfast nook on the other side. And look.” He pointed into the next room and said something. I leaned over to peer through the doorway, but I had no idea what I was looking for because my mind was whirring. Bill was so far, and David was so close. So close that if I just angled slightly, I would whiff that earthy, subtle David-ness . . . .

  “Did you just smell me?”

  “What?” I blinked and shook my head. “No.”

  “Yes, you did,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face.

  I rolled my eyes. “I did not. I was just trying to get a better look.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Well I’m very close to you and – okay, you do smell nice, so it is possible that I sniffed you, I just . . .”

  The look on his face stopped me. “You never answered my question.”

  “I just admitted – ”

  “Not that one.” He paused. “Are you depressed, Olivia?”

  I blinked in shock as I sought a response.

  “Just answer, don’t – ”

  “Do you ever think about that night?” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t let myself.”

  “Because of what you did?”

  “No.” I glanced down, ashamed.

  “Do you regret it?”

  “I hate myself for what I’ve done,” I said slowly. “I think about how it would hurt Bill if he found out. It would wreck him. The guilt is almost unbearable.” His expression turned something tortured. He looked at the floor. “But . . .”

  He blinked up at me again, pinning me with intense eyes.

  “But what I hate more,” I continued, “is that I don’t regret it. I don’t think about that night because I’m terrified that nothing will ever come close to it again.”

  He inhaled sharply and locked his arms across his torso.

  “That sounds crazy,” I said, shaking my head and looking away. “I guess for you it was just – ”

  “I think about that night all the time.”

  My gaze jumped back to his. We stared at each other, the space between us vibrating. My hands began to tremble with the agony of months of wanting to touch him. Slowly, he unfolded his arms. His hands hovered in the air awkwardly before scooping under my hair to grasp my face. He ran his thumbs over my jawline, and when I didn’t move away, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. We sat that way for a long time, both breathing heavily until he puckered his lips gently.

  When he pulled back, he rested his forehead on mine. “I’ve been dreaming about that for fifteen weeks,” he said quietly.

  I laughed in a gust of breath. I felt his cheeks with my hands, relishing the rough, bristly spots. I ran my fingers through his obsidian hair, which felt even silkier than I remembered. He groaned softly. I traced his lips reverently with my fingertip. “Why can’t I forget you?” I whispered.

  He leaned in and pecked me on the lips twice before nuzzling his nose into my neck. “The way you smell,” he said into my hair. “It’s irreplaceable.”

  I hugged him, feeling the muscles of his back through his shirt. He brushed his mouth down my cheek until reaching my lips. They parted for him, and he kissed me with careful movements, allowing me to appreciate every slide of his tongue and tremor of his lips. He tasted fresh but warm; he tasted like home.

  As we kissed, he molded my arms around his neck before picking me up by my waist so we were level. I felt safe and secure in his arms again, hidden from the outside world in our own private one. He untucked the back of my blouse and slid a hand underneath. It was a simple act, his hand skating over my back, but it made me dizzy with lust. Without disconnecting our mouths, he set me on my feet and unzipped my skirt so it fell to the ground.

  I pulled his shirt from his pants and undid the buttons with tremulous hands. I slid it over his shoulders. His pecs were hard and coarse under my palms, and I kissed them, breathing in the fresh woodsy smell that had been muted by his shirt.

  He undid my top button deftly. After each button, he glanced up and looked me squarely in the eyes. His hands glided under the fabric to hold my waist. We were looking into each other’s eyes, my body securely in his grip, as if to say ‘In this moment, you are mine.’

  He pulled me to his bare torso and wrapped me in strong arms. A hand over my hair secured my cheek to his chest. Between his heartbeat and mine, I heard nothing else.

  My desire grew, and my skin burned with the need to meld with him. I remembered how he had felt inside of me, driving me to the edge with exceptional focus. When I was sure I couldn’t stand another minute, he l
et go.

  Confusion cut through my ethereal haze. “What are you doing?”

  He stepped back suddenly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know,” he said up to the ceiling. “I wanted this . . . .”

  I stood staring at him, wavering with my skirt pooled at my feet. The blood drained from my face. “Wanted?”

  “It’s so wrong. But I can’t stop thinking about you, about that night.”

  “I want this,” I whispered.

  His face was still pointed upward, appealing to a higher power, maybe, I wasn’t sure. Avoiding my gaze, he stepped forward again. He tugged the bottom of my blouse and fingered the last button for a long second before closing it. We both watched as his hands closed each button.

  He crouched down and picked up the skirt. Methodically, he tucked in my blouse, smoothing his hand over my stomach, and reached around to zip me up. I just stood there as his smell taunted me, tempting memories on the verge. His fingers combed through my hair. They went to touch my lips, but he leaned in to kiss me desperately instead. I was still shocked into immobility, but my body responded on its own. My arms wrapped around his neck, and my mouth gave into him. I did not wonder why he stopped. I did not wonder why I couldn’t stop. I blocked the thoughts from my brain and melted into his hands in my hair, his breath with mine, a kiss that was a different kind of passionate than I’d ever experienced.

  But we broke apart when he tore his lips from mine. I fixated on a button rising and falling with his chest, trying to catch my own breath. My arms slithered down from his neck, and he caught my wrists. “I can’t do this because I care, not because I don’t. I can’t do this again, and I don’t think you can either.”

  He was wrong. I could do it. The realization came with a painful constriction of my heart. He had me so wound up in him that I saw nothing else. But his words made sense, so I nodded.

  He dropped my wrists and backed away. I watched, transfixed, as he re-buttoned his own shirt and shrugged on his suit jacket. Watching him dress himself in clothing I couldn’t touch – a chest, a face, hands that I couldn’t feel – put my entire body on edge. I had almost been allowed to show him how much I cared for him, but it had been dashed away, disintegrating under my fingers.

  My phone chiming from my purse relieved me of my torture. But relief quickly drained away, and my jaw fell as I read Bill’s text message.

  Sep 5, 2012 1:58 PM

  Called Jeanine. Gave her our offer! Champagne tonight, babe.

  David was leaving the room when I finally looked up from the screen. I’d just thrown myself at another man. And worse, I’d realized only minutes before that Bill’s and my problems might be deeper than I thought. And now –

  David stopped short in the doorway, and I halted just short of colliding with him. “Jesus,” he said, peering at his phone. “The appraiser already e-mailed.”

  “I know.” He looked up and his head cocked. Before he could ask how, I said, “Bill just made an offer.”

  His expression morphed. The grandfather clock chimed twice. It was as if every thought that passed through his mind were trying to break free, but his mouth remained set in a rigid line.

  “David?” I asked as he stared down at me. “Are you all right?”

  He cleared his throat and fixed his gaze over my head. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

  He gripped the handle of the front door and hesitated a moment. I waited for him to speak, my eyes darting between his face and the handle. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out onto the broken walkway. I followed him to a sleek, silver Mercedes-Benz.

  I ran my hands over my suddenly cold arms, wishing for a sweater to curl into at that moment. With automatic movements, he opened the passenger door to let me in. I tried not to look over at him as we pulled away, but after a few moments of silence had passed, I couldn’t help myself. He looked back at me and smiled.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I looked around the unfamiliar car. “Are you mad about what just happened?” I asked the dashboard.

  He reached over confidently to squeeze my bare knee. “No.”

  I covered his hand with mine. There was nothing and everything to say. We were quiet the rest of the way home.

  Our hands remained on my leg during the drive. I studied both of them, the way his long fingers and massive palm took up the whole lower half of my thigh. The gesture was meant to be comforting. But to me it was erotic. When he adjusted his grip, I silently willed his hand to slide up my skirt. But it didn’t, and when I smoothed a fingertip over his knuckles, he flipped his palm up and took my hand.

  There were no appropriate words: good-bye, see you soon, see you never – none of it felt right. So I let go of his hand and climbed out when he pulled up to the curb.

  “Olivia.”

  I leaned back into the car. There was a strangely uncomfortable look on his face.

  “There are other options.”

  I stared back into his eyes, trying not to dive across the car into his lap. After a moment, I just shut the door and vowed to forget what he’d just said.

  ~

  As soon as the front door shut behind me, Bill was in the kitchen.

  “How was your day? Get back to the office all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d you like driving in the architect’s car? It’s a V12. I noticed it on my way out. Your dad would love it.”

  I looked up at him and set my purse on the counter. “Sure.”

  “He seemed impressed with the house. Did he say anything to you?”

  “Honey, I just walked in the door,” I said, untying the belt of my jacket. I removed it slowly and hung it up as Bill waited. “What happened with the jury?” I braced myself against the counter to slide off my shoes.

  His smile was victorious. “We won.”

  “Oh, Bill. That’s great news.”

  “I was worried that they came to a verdict so quickly, but it turned out in our favor. So aren’t you going to say anything about the house?”

  I sighed. “Yes, actually.”

  “I’m excited, babe. I know I was skeptical because of the amount of work it will take, but I’m on board now. I’m just so ready to get started with our life already.”

  “Yes, but Bill, you should have consulted me first.”

  “Consulted you? Meaning?”

  “We should have sat down and talked – ”

  “Whoa. What are you saying? You told me you wanted this,” he said defensively.

  “I do, I just – you made the offer without discussing it with me. This is my home, my money too.”

  “Well, technically, babe, my money is going toward the down payment.”

  I drew back and crossed my arms. “So I don’t get a say?”

  “Of course you do, but we already discussed it,” he said. “You said yes. Once I got the information I needed from the guys, I knew we were good to go.”

  “I know you’re excited, I am too. But would it have killed you to wait one night so we could go over this together?”

  “And give you another opportunity to back out? No way, babe. This is happening. It’s done.”

  “I’m not going to back out. When you make decisions without me though, it makes me feel like you don’t respect my opinion.”

  “I believe your opinion was ‘yes, Bill, I want the house. Buy me this house.’ I believe it took a good eight or nine houses for you to decide that.”

  I pursed my lips. “I do want the house.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  The problem? I repeated to myself. The problem is that I almost had sex with someone else this afternoon. The problem is that I’m not sure of anything anymore. The problem is that I don’t know how to make a home with you!

  I shook the vicious thoughts from my head. How could I think that about this man who’d been nothing but good to me since the day we met? Of course I knew how to make a home with him. I
t would happen day by day – one thing at a time – we would build and build and build –

  “I don’t know,” he said with exasperation, running his hand over his face. “I can’t keep up with your back and forth. But it’s too late anyway. You’ll just have to trust that I’m making the right decision for both of us. The offer is made, and when they accept, that’s it.”

  I nodded and took a deep breath. “Yes,” I agreed. “Yes, that sounds right and good and . . . Yes.”

  “I have work to do. There’s champagne in the fridge, you can help yourself.”

  “Bill,” I sighed, but he disappeared. I leaned over the kitchen counter and put my head in my hands. Wasn’t it enough that I had betrayed him? Been vile to him for months? Was I now trying to make him unhappy? I straightened my shoulders. I would have to try harder, or I was going to drive an even bigger wedge between us. This was important to him, and it was something that would change our lives for the better.

  I found him at his desk, hunched over a stack of papers. My hand rested on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” I said when he looked up. “I am really excited about the offer. I know this means a lot to you, and it does to me too.”

  “This is the right decision. We have to move forward. I can’t stay in this place any longer.”

  I nodded. Move forward. Leave this place behind. Whatever is holding me back, I have to give it up.

  “Just think. We will finally have a home of our own. Who knows? We might have this house forever. We’ll grow old together there. Down the line, we’ll raise our children there – at that point, hopefully I’ll be partner at the firm, and I’ll be around more. I’ll come home, you’ll be cooking with the kids or getting them ready for basketball practice. We’ll have family dinners, a Christmas tree by the fire, birthday parties in the backyard . . . . One day, we’ll pass the house down to our children, and them to their children. It’s the beginning of our future.”

  I took a small step backward, thrown by the idyllic smile on his face. He was so confident in what he was saying, as though he’d already glimpsed into the future. As if, in his mind, it were the past, it had already happened. He’d seen me there, baking pies in a ruffle-trimmed, red and white apron. In his fantasy, I wanted those things too.