Before and Again

by Barbara Delinsky

  I tugged on those hands. “Lie with me—just a little?” When he made to crawl over and stretch out on top of the duvet, I opened the covers instead.

  Butt and legs came first. “Turn over,” he whispered as the rest of him scooted in. He held me spooned then, knees behind mine, one arm around my middle, the other pillowing my neck, and his chin in my hair. It was comfortable. It was familiar. No matter that we were both fully dressed—perhaps because of it—this was heavenly.

  I don’t know how long we lay there. I matched my breathing to his—used to do that all the time, and the rhythm returned, like we had never been apart. I covered his hands with my own, one at my waist, one at my neck. Twice, he drew free, once to tuck a strand of hair behind my ears, once to wrap his forearm across my upper chest in a spontaneous hug.

  I might have been fine lying like that forever, if he hadn’t used his hand again, this time to move the hair away from my neck to allow for a nuzzling kiss. Suddenly I saw his words on the face of my phone. I do. Love you. I tried not to, but how do you stop something like that?

  I needed to be loved. Didn’t matter whether I deserved it. Just then, I needed it more than air.

  Reaching back, I used my hold of his head to help me turn, and, grabbing his bearded jaw, I brought his mouth to mine. That was it—all I had to do—the sign he wanted. His kiss was thorough, and when it was done, he drew back for barely a breath before coming in for another. He touched my face and wove his fingers into my hair. He mouthed his way down my throat and chest, removing clothing as he went, so that when he reached my breasts, they were bare and aching.

  What followed was light-years removed from what we had done last week. That had been angry and fast. I had resented the physical attraction and wanted to get it out of my system once and for all. Okay. Fine. Part of it might have been pent-up need. But lots of it was wanting to punish Edward for messing with my new life. That sex hadn’t been pretty. In my right mind, I hadn’t wanted it.

  This I did. This was about being as close to another human being as was physically possible.

  Frantic to hold and be held, I kept my arms around him, kept my hands running over whatever of his skin that allowed. The heat of his body was what I craved. Had I been able to disappear inside him, I would have.

  Too quickly, his heat became mine, and I wanted more. I’m not quite sure I had ever appreciated the sweep of his cheekbone the way my lips did now, or admired his clavicle as my fingers did. I had certainly never before had facial hair to compare to the hair on his chest or his legs. I’m not sure I had ever been quite this dizzied by the nutty scent of his skin.

  His pulse was the best. It meant life, and life was what I needed. I found its rapid beat at the side of his neck and buried my face there. I found it inside his elbow and even more strongly at his groin. I was licking the thrum at the back of his knee when he brought me to my first climax. It was barely done when he flipped us around and entered me, and the mind-numbing went on.

  Edward Cooper was virility incarnate. I had always thought him so, whether wearing a suit and tie or a T-shirt and jeans. But here and now, with his dark, close-cropped beard carrying my scent, with his long body naked and hungry, with his hands knowing just how to hold and caress, and the rest of him dispelling what little remained of my loneliness with closeness and fire, he was my air.

  I was in the last throes of a shattering climax when I felt him approach his. I could tell from his breathing, from the small catch in his throat.

  Given a moment’s lucidity, I gasped in warning, “Not inside!”

  “Yes!”

  “Not safe—”

  “I want—”

  “Please.”

  He pulled out. His body jacked, and he held his breath for the longest time before breaking into long, throaty gasps. Then he collapsed on me.

  I couldn’t move, could barely breathe. But I wrapped my arms around his sweaty back and held him, so that he wouldn’t leave. His weight grounded me.

  Finally, he slid to the side and drew me under his arm, holding my body flush to his with a hand at my hip. “I’m staying,” he whispered.

  I didn’t argue. My cheek was on his chest, one leg wound through his. I wasn’t about to move, and it had nothing to do with the part of him that my thigh touched, the part that was no longer erect yet still impressive. It had to do with his warmth, his scent, his pulse.

  I didn’t fall asleep. Nor did he, said his steady, sturdy pulse.

  “You were sad,” he whispered into my bedroom’s night.

  “I was lonely.”

  “Where’s Liam?”

  “On a date.”

  “Gone for the night?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not to me,” he said, but, even in a low bed voice, his intonation reminded me that I was the one leery of taking our relationship public, and that Liam would talk.

  At that moment, I didn’t care.

  Several moments later, though, I said, “It should. Matter to you. I’m bad luck.”

  He paused, sighed. “If you’re talking about the accident—”

  “No. Now. I mess things up.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I do. Like with Nina. I didn’t handle that well. And Chris? He’s fragile right now. I was too hard on him.”

  He gave me a sharp squeeze. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  But I wasn’t. “I’m not sure I helped. I said way too much.” That, even before my confession, which Edward didn’t know about, unless Chris had blurted it out to his mother as soon as I left. “What happened with Grace?”

  “She was okay.”

  “Did she stay with Chris?”

  “I made her.” There was a jolt on the bed, a dip, and Edward bolted up. “What the hell is that?” he asked.

  “One of my cats.” Needing to stay connected, I put a reassuring hand on his lower back, which was the part of him I could most easily reach. “They’re not used to anyone else in my bed.”

  He exhaled resignedly. “Do they always sleep with you?”

  “Apparently not when someone else does.”

  He lay back down, though it was a minute before his heartbeat returned to its pre-cat calm.

  So low that it was almost to myself, I whispered, “I love my cats.”

  He was silent. Then, “Is that a warning?”

  “Just saying.” I reconsidered it. Yes, a warning. “I like them here.”

  “Where’s your dog?”

  “I love him, too.”

  “But where is he?”

  “Probably asleep on Liam’s bed. He likes lying in piles of clothes.”

  “Well, something else is here,” he said, lying very still now. “Do you use a vibrator?”

  “Excuse me?” It was a second before I understood. “Oh, God. My phone.” Sitting up in the dark, I groped through the covers in search, but Edward found it in the rumple of sheets under his leg.

  He handed it to me. Its screen was lit and a harsh intrusion. I put it facedown on the nightstand.

  “Don’t want to check it?”

  Still up on an elbow, I looked down at him. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Very. I don’t want people telling me about People or The Devon Times.”

  “Maybe they’re calling about something else.”

  I simply shook my head. My friends were wonderfully loyal to me and I to them, but for none of them was I the “person to contact in case of emergency,” and if it wasn’t an emergency now, I didn’t want to talk, at least, not with them.

  I started to lie down again but stopped, unsure. When Edward opened his arm, I went the rest of the way.

  We lay quietly. For a time, I was content enough not to say anything. But the room was dark, and no, I didn’t want to talk with friends, but maybe I did want to talk with my ex-husband.

  “Edward?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Why did you come here tonight?”

  He shifted his hip
s to get comfortable. “I knew you were upset.”

  Upset was putting it mildly. “I was bitchy to Nina and bitchy to Chris and bitchy to Joyce.”

  “Joyce?”

  “She called you. So I walked right past her without a word.”

  “She understands, Maggie.”

  “How much does she know?”

  “Most everything. I wanted her to let me know if Shanahan came again, and she asked just the right questions, no more, and she’s like a mother.”

  I grunted. “Not like mine.”

  “Or mine. That’s what makes her so appealing.”

  “She didn’t say anything to me.”

  “Why would she?”

  “I don’t know.” But I did. It was a whole other side of me, one that was neither pretty nor praiseworthy. Looking back, I didn’t see anything she had done in my regard that was different. But I couldn’t see into her deepest thoughts. They had to have changed. How could she not think less of me for killing my child?

  He sighed. “Jesus, Maggie.”

  “What?”

  “Get past it.”

  I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to say that wasn’t what I’d been thinking at all. But this was Edward. So I just said, “I’m trying.”

  We were quiet for a bit. Then, he said, “You’re okay with Nina knowing?”

  “No.” Funny, though, only now I remembered what Nina had said about her own loneliness. She wasn’t upset with what I had done, just wanted to know how I had survived it. She wanted help. I had totally shut her out.

  “But you’re okay with me here?” Edward asked, so again I put Nina aside.

  “In town? No.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “I know.”

  “You need me.”

  “You don’t need me.”

  “Are you kidding? I need someone who knows who I am. Not who I am now. Who I was. Besides, you’re a good lay.”

  “Good lays are a dime a dozen.”

  “How would you know?”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t.” I was suddenly hesitant. “So … it was okay?”

  “Better than okay. Better than ever.”

  I raised my head at that. “Was I not so good before?”

  He pushed my head back to his chest. “You were great before. You’re just greater now. That thing you did … the back of my thighs? No one loves me like you.”

  Seeming determined to test the theory, he took me again. And yes, he had a way of inspiring me. I had never been inhibited when it came to sex with Edward. Where he had size, I had finesse. Where he was athletic, I was creative, which made total sense. Clay was my thing. I knew about kneading and shaping. I knew about fingering rough spots and smoothing others. I loved texture, and earthiness. I loved the beauty of the male form.

  “Say it,” he whispered when he was on the cusp of climax.

  Right there with him, I could barely think the words, much less breathe them, so my plea was as internal as not. “Pull out.”

  That wasn’t what he had in mind. “Say you love me.”

  I simply dug my fingers into his hips to keep them moving. I was close, so close.

  “I love you,” he gasped with one thrust, and with the next, “You love me. Say it.”

  I couldn’t, not yet. And then it didn’t matter, because he did pull out, and still we came together, and when he lay exhausted in the notch of my legs, he told me he loved me again.

  It was an illusion, for sure. I was as flawed as a person could be. But it was what my damaged heart wanted, so for those few hours in the dark, I believed.

  * * *

  Morning arrived. After sleeping alone for more than four years, I should have felt a visceral alarm at the smell of a man in my bed. But my familiarity with Edward was so ingrained that from the first moment of awareness, I thought nothing of the soft snoring just above my forehead. We hadn’t moved much during the night. My cheek was on his shoulder now, but the whole front of me hugged his side, and our legs remained entwined.

  I didn’t move at first. Having another beating heart with me was precious. With the forest sky starting to brighten, and the house quiet save the rush of heat through the vents, I listened to it until the reality of it brought back the reality of the night before. My reality was about being flawed, and it always returned.

  Taking care not to wake Edward, I removed my cheek first, then my leg, and rolled slowly away. Easing open a dresser drawer, I lifted out clean clothes, then crept to the door, slipped into the hall, and reclosed the door.

  In the bathroom, I removed my makeup. There was my scar, and, inside the medicine chest, taped right there behind the makeup remover, my mug shot. I had the lightest heat of whisker burn on my inner thigh, but if it was a contest for my attention, the scar and mug shot won hands down. Whisker burns went away. These did not.

  Resigned, I took a short shower. Not knowing how much time I’d have until Edward woke up, I quickly put on my new face. For a split second, it occurred to me to let him see the scar—no, not let him, but force him to see it. Easy to say I love you when there were no reminders around.

  But I couldn’t. It was enough that I see the scar myself.

  Once it was hidden, I redid my hair and quietly, very quietly went down the stairs.

  My brother was slouched on the sofa. It was the first morning since he had come that he wasn’t in the kitchen making breakfast. The presence of all three of my pets crowding in on the cushions with him would have been a tip-off, had his dejected face not said it first.

  I approached. “Not good?”

  “Nope.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing much.”

  I waited for him to go on. It wasn’t like Liam to be stingy with words. “And?”

  “No chemistry.”

  It took me a minute. “Ah.” Erica Kahn must not have wanted sex, which meant he’d been hit where it hurt.

  “Yeah. Ah.” He glanced toward the stairs. “You, obviously, do not have that problem.”

  “No, but I have so many others—” I stopped. This wasn’t about me. Compassion wasn’t a competition. I touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Liam. It’s her loss.”

  He grunted. “That doesn’t really help, y’know.”

  “How about breakfast? How about I make it for you this time?” I wanted only to make him smile.

  He didn’t smile. But he did show interest. “That depends. “What are you making?”

  “Fried eggs.”

  He raised his brows. “And…?”

  I tried to think what I had. “Ham?”

  “That’s supposed to cheer me up? Fried eggs and ham is so Dr. Seuss.”

  “It’s Green Eggs and Ham,” I corrected on a wave of nostalgia. Lily had loved that book. She had “read” it to me before she even learned how to read.

  If the ache I felt showed, Liam wouldn’t have noticed. He was looking past me toward the stairs. Edward was coming down with the phone to his ear and a frown on his face. He wore boxer shorts and nothing else, clearly unconcerned with Liam’s being there.

  “She’s not talking to media,” he said into the phone then, “Yes, you said that, but how do I know for sure?” He listened as he approached me and inhaled to speak, only to hold his breath when whoever it was went on. As he listened, his eyes flicked to mine and half-mouthed, “Area code 860. Says it’s personal.”

  860 was my mother’s area code. But it sure wasn’t my mother. If it were, Edward wouldn’t be looking puzzled. He wouldn’t be asking questions. He’d be handing the phone over ASAP.

  I looked to Liam for a clue. His eyes were apprehensive, but they stayed firm on Edward, who began to repeat, like it was part of the conversation, what he was hearing so we would know.

  “You’ve been trying to reach Liam and can’t get through,” he said, eying first my brother, then, after a pause, me. “You don’t know how to reach Mackenzie.” Another pause, eyes downcast now. “No, my number hasn
’t changed.”

  The person at the other end was upset. I could hear that much.

  Finally, loud enough to get her attention, he said, “Okay. I believe you. Let me see what I can do. What did you say your name was?”

  19

  Edward held the phone to his ear for a last minute before lowering it out of voice range and asking me a skeptical, “Do you know an Annika Allen?”

  I didn’t.

  But the low Fuck! behind me said Liam did. My eyes flew to his in time to see embarrassment. “She’s Mom’s assistant,” he said, but the guilt slipping over his face told more. Annika Allen was Liam’s relationship that had ended badly. Of course, she’d been trying to reach him. Of course, he hadn’t answered.

  The question—not reassuring at all—was why she was calling to speak with me, on Edward’s phone, no less.

  Taking it from his hand, I put it to my ear and said a cautious, “Hello?”

  The relief on the other end was palpable. “Mackenzie? Thank God! I’ve been trying to call your brother for days, but he won’t pick up. I’m sure he sees my number and thinks I’m calling because I miss him, but I don’t. He can be a real shit, y’know?”

  I did know, but he was my brother, so I wouldn’t have said it even if she paused, which she didn’t.

  “When I couldn’t get through to him, I decided to try to reach you, but the number listed in your mother’s Rolodex wasn’t in service, and I had no idea where you were living or what name you were using. I asked everyone around here, but no one knew, so I tried searching online, but all I got were articles about, well, from the accident. Then I was flipping through People last night, and there you were in Vermont. At least, I thought it was you, because your mom does have a picture of you in her wallet, and while it doesn’t have bangs, the face is the same, y’know? Maggie Reid, makeup artist at the Devon Spa. Your mother never told me.”

  During her monologue, I had been looking at Edward. He seemed curious but calm. I clung to that. I didn’t know what Annika Allen wanted, but the fact that she was my mother’s assistant and had seen my picture in Mom’s wallet raised a bunch of scary possibilities.

  “I tried calling the Spa,” Annika said, “but this was, like, really late last night, and it was closed. So I Googled the place and found an article about the new owner, and I guessed that maybe Ned Cooper was Edward, and remembered that his phone number was in Margaret’s Rolodex, so I actually went back to the bakery really, really late last night, but I just couldn’t get myself to call him so late, because maybe I was wrong that he was the right one. The names were all screwed up, and you’re divorced, and his cell phone still had a Massachusetts area code, so if this one was actually in Vermont? As open as your mom is about things at the bakery, it’s like there’s a wall between that and her private life—”