"Pneumonia." She traced a line of rickrack that edged the pocket of her dress. The depression that had been hanging over her ever since she'd realized the Bible wasn't ready to give up its secrets settled in deeper. "It took him forever to recover. At one point, I wasn't sure he'd make it. It was awful."
"I'm sorry."
The discussion of Edward had opened a gap between them. She knew Gabe wanted to close it as much as she did when he spoke. "Let's go to bed, Rachel."
She gazed into his eyes, and it didn't enter her mind to say no. He held out his hand and led her into the house.
Moonlight streamed over the old bed, touching the soft worn sheets with silver and gilding Rachel's hair as Gabe lay over her naked body. His need for her frightened him. He was a man of silence and solitude. These past few years had taught him that it was best for him to be alone, but she was changing that. She was pushing him toward something he didn't want to examine.
She twisted beneath him, legs spread, pressing herself against him. Her lovemaking was so unrestrained that he couldn't always control himself. Sometimes, he was afraid he'd hurt her.
Now he drew her arms above his head and manacled her wrists. He knew the feeling of helplessness would drive her wild, and, almost immediately, she began to moan.
Restraining her left him with only one hand to use. One hand to cup her breasts, one thumb to rub across the swollen tips. He substituted his mouth and moved his hand between her legs.
She was wet for him, slippery with desire. He caressed her, loving the woman's feel of her beneath his touch. How could he have forgotten this? How could he have let his pain destroy so much that was good?
Her short, breathy moans were loosening the limits of his control. She started to struggle against his restraint, but she wasn't putting anything into it, so he didn't let her go. Instead, he slid his finger inside her.
She gave a low, strangled scream.
He couldn't endure that sweet writhing any longer. He positioned himself, then entered in a deep, strong thrust.
"Yes," she gasped.
He covered her open mouth with his own. Their teeth scraped; their tongues mated. He took each of her wrists in one of his hands and drove into her, their arms extended.
She tilted her hips, then wrapped her legs around him. Moments later, she fell apart.
Nothing existed but this shuddering woman and the moonlight and the sweet-scented summer air blowing over their bodies from the open window. He found the forgetfulness he needed.
Afterward, he didn't want to move off her. The sheet tangled around their hips. He pressed his mouth against her neck, shut his eyes…
A small bundle of fury leaped on his back.
"Get off my mommy! Get off her!"
Something hard hit him on the head.
Little fists pounded at him, and fingernails scratched his neck. The room echoed with frantic cries. "Stop it! Stop it!"
Rachel had gone rigid beneath him. "Edward!"
Something much sturdier than five-year-old fists began to bang against the back of his head in hard, rhythmic whacks. Tears and panic clogged the child's voice. "You're hurting her! Stop hurting her!"
Gabe tried to deflect the blows, but his range of motion was limited. The boy was straddling his hips, and, if he rolled over, he'd reveal Rachel's nudity. How had he gotten in the room? He was certain Rachel had locked the door.
"Edward, don't!" Rachel grabbed for the sheet.
Gabe caught a small, flailing elbow. "I'm not hurting her, Edward."
A monumental blow, much harder than the rest, landed on the side of his head. "My name's not—"
"Chip!" Gabe gasped.
"I'll kill you!" the boy sobbed, then clobbered him again.
"Stop that right this minute, Edward Stone! Do you hear me!" Rachel had steel in her voice.
The boy slowly grew still.
She softened her tone. "Gabe isn't hurting me, Edward."
"Then what's he doing?"
For the first time since they'd met, Rachel seemed to be at a loss for words.
He turned his head and saw rumpled hair, along with red, tearstained cheeks. "I was kissing her, Ed… Chip."
A horrified expression came over the child's face. "Don't you ever do that again."
Gabe knew his weight was making it difficult for Rachel to breathe, but she spoke as soothingly as she could manage. "It's all right, Edward. I like it when Gabe kisses me."
"No, you don't!"
They clearly weren't getting anywhere, so Gabe spoke firmly. "Chip, I want you to go to the kitchen and get your mother a big glass of water. She's very thirsty."
The child gave him a mulish look.
"Please do what he says, Edward. I really need a drink of water."
The child reluctantly climbed off the bed, at the same time shooting Gabe a wordless tight-lipped warning that promised annihilation if he threatened his mother.
The moment he disappeared through the doorway, Gabe and Rachel leaped from the bed and began frantically grabbing for their clothes. Gabe yanked on his jeans. Rachel snatched up his T-shirt and jerked it over her head, then searched the floor for her panties. When she couldn't find them, she pulled on his briefs instead. It should have been funny, but all he cared about was being dressed before the boy returned.
He yanked up his zipper. "I thought you locked the door."
"No. I thought you did it."
The boy appeared in record time, running so quickly that water slopped over the sides of the blue plastic Bugs Bunny tumbler.
As Rachel moved forward to take it from him, she stumbled on something. Gabe looked down and recognized a copy of Stellaluna lying on the floor. It took him a moment to figure out why it was there, and then he realized this was what Edward had used to beat him over the head.
He'd been assaulted with a deadly book.
Chapter Seventeen
« ^ »
Rachel made a great play out of drinking the water. When she was done, she cupped the top of Edward's head. "Let's tuck you back in bed."
Gabe stepped forward. He knew this had to be settled before she shuffled him off. He eyed the small boy, remembering the fury of those young fists and, for a fleeting moment, he saw the child as he was and not as a shadow of someone else.
"Chip, I like your mother very much, and I'd never hurt her. I want you to remember that. If you see us touching each other again, you'll know it's because we want to touch and not because anything's wrong."
Edward gave his mother a look of disbelief. "How could you want to touch him?"
"I know it's hard for you to understand, especially since you and Gabe haven't been getting along very well, but I like being with him."
The boy regarded her mutinously. "If you got to touch somebody, you touch me!"
She smiled. "I love touching you. But I'm a grown-up woman, Edward, and sometimes I need to touch a grownup man."
"Then you can touch Pastor Ethan."
Rachel had the nerve to laugh. "I don't think so, pug. Pastor Ethan is your friend, and Gabe is mine."
"They're not brothers, no matter what he says."
"Tomorrow when you see Pastor Ethan at school, why don't you ask him about it?"
Gabe noticed that his briefs were in imminent danger of sliding off Rachel's hips. "Come on, Chip. Let's give Tweety Bird one more feeding before you go back to bed."
But Edward was too smart to be bought off that easily. "How do I know you won't start kissing her again?"
"I will kiss her," he said firmly, "but only when your mother says it's okay."
"It's not okay!" Edward stomped toward the door. "And I'm going to tell Pastor Ethan on you!"
"Terrific," Gabe muttered. "That's just what we need."
Pastor Ethan, however had troubles of his own. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and not even half a cup of coffee remained in the pot he and Kristy shared.
It wasn't as if he didn't know how to make coffee. He made it for himself every morning at home.
But this wasn't home. This was the office, and for the past eight years, Kristy had kept the pot full.
He snatched up the glass carafe, stormed past her desk, and made his way to the small kitchen just off the narthex, where he splashed water all over his new Gap polo. He stomped back into the office, pitched out the old grounds, threw some new in without counting the scoops, poured in the water, and punched the switch. There! That ought to show her!
Unfortunately, she was too busy humming an old Whitney Houston tune and tapping away at her computer to notice. He couldn't decide which was worse: the coffee, that cheerful humming, or the fact that she was wearing her old clothes to work.
Her shapeless khaki dress was driving him even crazier than the empty coffee pot. He'd seen it dozens of times before. It was roomy, comfortable, and utterly devoid of style. Where were the clothes he objected to? Those tight white jeans, the skimpy breast-hugging tops, those silly gold sandals?
And if she'd decided to turn herself back into the old Kristy, why hadn't she gone all the way? Why hadn't she tamed that little feathery haircut of hers and left her red lipstick in the drawer at home, along with that killer perfume that made him think of black lace and body heat?
As her hands flew over the keyboard of her computer, the tiny gold and silver rings on her fingers flashed in the sunlight that streamed in from the window behind her, while those fake diamond studs glimmered in her ear-lobes. His gaze fell on the bodice of her ugly khaki dress. If only he didn't know what nestled beneath it.
Think of other things, dear, Marion Cunningham advised in her sweet, understanding voice. Concentrate on your sermon. I'm sure if you give it just a little more effort, it will be your best yet.
He flinched. Why did the great Mother have to show up just when he. was thinking about breasts?
The tapping stopped. Kristy rose from her desk, glanced over at him, and ducked out of the office to head for the rest room down the hall.
As soon as she got home, he knew she'd take off that ugly dress and slip into one of her new pairs of shorts and a top that showed off too much. And he wouldn't be there to see it because she'd made it more than clear that she didn't want him at her condo. No more home-cooked meals, no more dropping by to spill out his troubles about an unreasonable parishioner. Jeez, he missed her. He missed his friend.
He stared at her empty desk and thought about how she'd gone out to dinner with Mike Reedy again last night. That was twice now. On Saturday, Mike had taken her to a restaurant in Cashiers, and last night they'd eaten in the Mountaineer's dining room. Three people in the congregation had made sure he found out about it.
She wasn't back yet, and his skin grew clammy. He knew where she kept her purse. In the bottom left drawer, along with a small box of tissues and a first-aid kit. All his life, even during his wild days, he'd tried to behave honorably, and what he wanted to do wasn't honorable at all, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.
He shot across the office, jerked open the drawer, and pulled out her purse, the same little black number she'd taken to the Mountaineer last week when they'd had their disastrous conversation and she'd told him he wasn't her friend.
A real minister, someone who wasn't so flawed, someone with a true calling, would never do this. He flipped open the catch and looked inside. Wallet, comb, Tic Tacs, some makeup, car keys, a Daily Word devotional book. No condom.
He heard her footsteps, shoved the purse back in the drawer, and pulled out the first-aid kit.
"Is something wrong?"
A few minutes earlier, the expression of concern on her face would have lightened his mood, but not now. "Just a headache."
"Go sit down. I'll bring you some aspirin."
He handed her the first-aid kit and, for the first time all week, she started fussing over him, bringing him a glass of water, giving him the aspirin, asking if he'd gotten enough sleep last night. Unfortunately, her fussing didn't feel nearly as good as it should have because he couldn't remember a single time when she'd mentioned a headache and he'd brought her aspirin.
What had happened to that condom? Just the thought of her passing it over to Mike Reedy made him feel sick. Part of him knew he should be happy that she might have found someone, but not Mike Reedy, even though he'd always liked Mike and couldn't think of a single thing wrong with him, except that he shouldn't be making love with Kristy Brown.
After he'd swallowed the aspirin he didn't need, he gazed at her and wondered why it had taken him so long to notice how pretty she was. Not in a flashy way, even when she got dressed up, but in a quiet, sweet way.
"You know the drive-in's opening Friday night," he found himself saying.
"I just hope someone shows up. A lot of people in town are angry with Gabe for helping Rachel, and they're talking about a boycott." Kristy looked worried. "People can be so mean."
He spoke casually. "We both want to be at the drive-in on Friday night when it opens, so why don't I pick you up at eight?"
Kristy stared at him. "You want to go to the drive-in together?"
"Sure. How else are we going to show Gabe our support?"
The telephone rang on his desk. Kristy studied it for a moment before she finally picked it up. He soon realized she was talking to Patty Wells, the coordinator of the day-care center.
"Yes, Ethan's here. Of course. Send Edward right up, Patty."
She replaced the receiver and frowned. "He's been asking all morning to come talk to you. Patty tried to distract him, but he wouldn't give up. I hope nothing's wrong."
Both of them had been around Edward long enough to know that he never demanded anything, and they shared a wordless moment of concern.
Kristy returned to the outer office, and, a few minutes later, showed Edward in. She gave Ethan a worried look, one of a hundred they'd shared over the years when she'd ushered a troubled parishioner into his office. Then she retreated.
"You can shut the door if you want some privacy," Ethan said.
Edward hesitated and looked out at Kristy. Ethan knew how fond he was of her; and he was surprised when Edward pressed the door closed with both hands. Whatever was on his mind was obviously serious stuff.
Ethan had never liked the impersonality of talking across a desk, and he walked around to a small seating area near the window that held a couch and two comfortable chairs.
Edward climbed up onto the middle cushion of the couch and slid back into the seat, which made his legs stick out in front of him. He had a smear of red paint on the toe of one sneaker. Ethan had noticed how clean Rachel kept his worn clothes, which led him to believe the paint had come from that morning's art project.
Edward automatically reached out for something at his side, and, when he encountered only air, scratched his elbow. The stuffed rabbit, Ethan guessed.
"What's on your mind, Edward?"
"Gabe's a big liar. He says he's your brother."
Ethan began to correct him, but the deep unhappiness in the boy's expression made him hesitate. "Why do you think he's lying?"
"Because he's a butthead, and I hate him."
Ethan had been counseling troubled people for years, and he forced himself to detach so he could rephrase the boy's words. "Sounds like you don't like Gabe too much."
Edward shook his head vigorously. "My mommy shouldn't like him either."
Ditto to that, buddy. "I guess it upsets you that your mother likes him."
"I told her she can touch me instead, but she said she wants to touch a grown man, too."
I'll just bet she does. Especially a grown man with a hefty bank account and a casual attitude toward his money.
"I even said you'd let her touch you, Pastor Ethan, but she said you was my friend and Gabe was hers, and she said she wanted to kiss him and I had to stop hitting him."
Kissing him? Hitting him? It took a moment for Ethan to figure out which question to ask. "You were hitting Gabe?"
"I jumped on his back when he was kissing her, and I kept hitting him with Stellaluna
till he let her go."
If he'd been hearing this story about anyone else, he would have been amused, but not about his brother. He knew he shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help it. "Where was Gabe when you jumped on his back?"
"Squishing my mommy."
"Squishing her?"
"You know. On top of her. Squishing her."
Damn.
Edward's brown eyes filled with tears. "He's a bad man, and I want you to make him go away, and I want you to let my mommy touch you instead."
Ethan pushed aside his own concerns and moved to the couch where he slipped his arm around the boy's shoulders. "It doesn't work that way with grown-ups," he said gently. "Your mom and Gabe are friends."
"He was squishing her!"
Ethan forced himself to speak evenly. "They're grownups, and that means they can squish each other if they want to. And Edward, that doesn't mean your mom doesn't love you just as much as always. You know that, don't you?"
The child thought it over. "I guess."
"You might not be getting along with Gabe right now, but he's really a good person."
"He's a butthead."
"He's had some bad things happen to him, and it makes him grouchy, but he's not bad."
"What bad things?"
Ethan hesitated, then decided the child should know the truth. "He had a wife and a little boy he loved very much. They died in an accident a while ago. He's still very sad about it."
Edward didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he slid closer and let his head slump against Ethan's chest.
Ethan rubbed the boy's arm and thought about the mystery of God's ways. Here he was comforting the son of a man he'd despised and a woman he disliked, so why did he feel comforted himself?
"Gabe really is my brother," he said quietly. "I love him very much."
The child stiffened, but didn't draw away. "He's mean."
It was difficult for Ethan to fathom how his gentle brother could be unkind to this precious little boy. "I want you to think really hard. Isn't there anything nice Gabe has done for you?"
Edward began to shake his head, then stopped. "There's one thing."
"What's that?"
Dream a Little Dream Page 23