Once More with Feeling

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Go back to the beginning, Laura,” Claire insisted. ‘Tell us everything.”

  “Where should I start? Do you want to hear about how the sun never set before midnight? Or how I bottle-fed a four-week-old moose? Or about the time I fell into the lake and ended up with a leech stuck to my hand?”

  “We want to hear the good parts,” Claire said impatiently.

  “You can tell us about that other stuff later,” Julie agreed. “We want to hear about Dr. Woodward.”

  “Cam,” Laura corrected her.

  Julie and Claire looked at each other and giggled.

  “Is it serious?” asked Julie.

  Claire nodded knowingly. “It must be, if she’s getting together with him here in the civilized world. So when are you seeing him again?”

  “When can we meet him?”

  “He’ll be in Alaska until the end of the summer. We’re planning to see each other as soon as he gets back.”

  “How romantic!” Julie breathed. “A reunion of two lovers, kept thousands of miles apart for weeks on end, all because of the cruel hand fate dealt them, the dedication he has to his work, the ... the ...”

  “The return date on her airline ticket,” Claire finished. “I just hope this love affair doesn’t turn out to be nothing more than a summer fling.”

  Laura remained silent, not daring to admit that ever since she’d boarded the plane in Anchorage, her heart turning a few somersaults as she watched Cam wave good-bye, she’d been worried about the very same thing.

  ****

  Laura sat at the dining-room table with the page proofs for her latest book, Riddle-Dee-Dee, spread out before her. Her eyes remained fixed on the typeset pages, but she was incapable of focusing enough to give her bouncy prose one final proofreading before handing it over to the printer. How could she, when every two minutes she had to look at the clock?

  Tonight she was seeing Cam again. He was due in just fifteen minutes. All the details were worked out. They had an eight-o’clock dinner reservation at the Sassafras Café. Evan was spending the night at Roger’s. She’d showered and shampooed and put on makeup and wielded her hair dryer—with stellar results, if she did say so herself.

  She seemed to remember that a single young woman about to embark on a night on the town with a special beau was supposed to be bubbling over with gleeful anticipation. Why, then, was she so filled with anxiety? She pushed away the page proofs, finally admitting they were a lost cause.

  She knew the answer. She’d been wrestling with this one for weeks now, and her ruminations had escalated over the past twenty-four hours—ever since Cam had stepped off an airplane, onto Long Island.

  This was much more than a date. Seeing Cam again was a far cry from choking down five-alarm chicken with Richie and a roomful of oversexed statues. It had little in common with picking at food that looked as if it were still breathing with Kirk Brentwood, the man whose three favorite words in the English language were me, myself, and I.

  On those occasions Laura had little emotional investment in how the evening proceeded. Tonight, what happened with Cam really mattered.

  What was really going on between them? Was it love ... or just a distraction? Had she merely picked out the first available man who’d come along and latched on to him, being careful to gloss over faults that would one day come back to haunt her?

  During those last days in Alaska, she’d felt as if she were living in an MTV video. She and Cam did all the things lovers were supposed to do—with an Alaskan twist. Instead of a candlelight dinner, they split a fistful of beef jerky and a can of diet 7-Up out in the woods. There were no sunsets to gaze at, since the sun didn’t set until way after they’d reached the point of exhaustion, so they settled for watching hordes of blackflies hovering in the sky. Instead of walking hand in hand through grassy fields, they’d slogged through layers of peat, ankle-deep in muck that sucked at them hungrily.

  It had all been so unreal. What was the vague threat of bears compared with the unavoidable presence of lawyers and ex-spouses? With no telephones, no fax machines, no mail service, she and Cam had been free to concentrate on each other. In a world like that, how could she possibly be expected to separate out feelings she really had from feelings she wished she had?

  Stay tuned, she thought ruefully. All this will be resolved soon enough. She only hoped her heart, barely patched together, could stand another pummeling.

  And that wasn’t all. The issue of whether or not what had started five thousand miles away would continue here on the home front was only part of what had kept her preoccupied over the summer. She’d also struggled endlessly with the question of whether or not she even wanted it to.

  It was so easy being alone, and a comfortable rhythm had developed between Evan and her. At camp he’d acquired much more than seventy-nine mosquito bites and an impressive repertoire of disgusting songs. He’d also gained self-assurance. He seemed happier than she’d ever seen him. With minor exceptions, conflict and compromise were no longer a part of Laura’s life.

  But whenever Cam called, the part of her that thrived on being alone was silenced. Their last long-distance conversation, two nights earlier, had been no exception.

  “I can’t wait to see you,” he told her. “It’s hard to believe that in forty-eight hours, I’ll be back home. The first thing I want to do is take you out on a real date.”

  “A date?” It was midnight in Laura’s neck of the woods. A call so late, from such a faraway place, cloaked the two of them in intimacy. She sat in bed, wearing her sexiest nightgown, wishing desperately she were curled up with more than the telephone.

  “That’s right. I’m talking about a good old-fashioned traditional date. You know, flowers, a candlelight dinner, a movie ... and a good-night kiss.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  “I want to court you,” Cam insisted. “I want to win your heart. I want to hold your hand and whisper sweet nothings and cover the back of your neck with wet kisses.”

  Maybe it was his words, maybe it was the deep, sexy voice in which they were delivered, but goose bumps sprang up all over Laura’s body.

  Yet now that the time for their reunion had arrived, Laura could scarcely remember the yearning she’d felt lying in bed with a phone at her ear and lust in her heart. She was too busy trying to calm herself down.

  When the telephone rang at twelve minutes to seven, her stomach lurched.

  “He’s not coming,” she muttered, racing to the phone. “He changed his mind. He decided he prefers redheads. He joined a cult.”

  She was wondering whether to feel dismayed or relieved when she discovered it wasn’t Cam on the other end of the line, but Roger.

  “What is it?” she demanded, hardly in the mood for sparring with her ex.

  “Evan needs his Roller Blades. We’re coming over to get them.”

  “Now?”

  “We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Laura hesitated. “I’m expecting someone.”

  “We’ll be out in two minutes. I promise.”

  Laura tried to suppress her annoyance. Roger had managed to put her in a no-win situation—again. If she said no, her poor son would be deprived of the use of his skates. If she said yes, she risked breaking rule number one on the list of dating do’s and don’t’s: Never introduce your ex-husband and your boyfriend on the first date.

  Please be late, she silently begged Cam. Standing at the window, staring out into the street, she hoped he’d get lost on his way over—not enough to put a damper on the evening, but enough to keep an unsavory encounter from mining an event she’d been agonizing over for six weeks.

  When she heard the sound of tires crunching in the driveway, Laura moaned.

  Seconds later Evan came bounding joyfully into the house, exuding energy and enthusiasm. Her husband’s entrance was a sharp contrast. Roger was so good at playing the role of wet blanket she was surprised he didn’t leave a trail of water on the floor.

&nb
sp; She struggled to remain calm. “This really isn’t a very good time.”

  “We’ll be fast. Get your skates, Ev.”

  Roger glanced at Laura, an odd look on his face as he gave her the once-over. She could feel her cheeks reddening. Makeup, freshly washed hair, the silver earrings he’d given her for their fifth anniversary ... Was it obvious that it was all for another man? She chafed under his steady gaze, feeling as if, in addition to her favorite string of beads, a scarlet A decorated her chest.

  “Did you get your hair cut?” he finally asked.

  “Da-a-ad, my Roller Blades aren’t in the closet.”

  Reminding herself that at one time she’d been considered someone who worked well under pressure, Laura willed herself to remember where she’d last seen Ev’s Roller Blades. The clock was ticking, the danger was mounting, her panic was escalating....

  “Under the bed!” she cried, having just had something as close to a vision as possible without having been nominated for sainthood. She took the stairs two at a time, nearly decking her son as she zoomed into his room. Falling to her knees, she stuck her arm under the bed. Socks, an empty Cheerios box, comic books ... Eureka! Never in her life had she been so happy to make contact with round pieces of molded plastic.

  “Voila!” she announced, dragging the Roller Blades out from under the bed. She brushed off the colony of dust bunnies. “Now off with you, pumpkin. Have fun skating.”

  “Oh, Dad’s not taking me skating until tomorrow,” Evan said offhandedly. “Right now we’re going to Friendly’s for dinner.”

  Seconds after Roger’s car had disappeared down the street, a second set of tires crunched in the driveway. Standing by the window, Laura watched Cam get out of his car and stroll toward the front door, the requisite bouquet of flowers in hand. An alarming thought entered her mind.

  I want this man.

  Quickly she banished it from her consciousness. That was no way to embark on a first official date. Instead, she tried looking at him objectively.

  Here in the civilized world, she observed, Cameron Woodward looked considerably more conventional. Thanks to a haircut and a beard trimming, he’d lost the look of someone who’d been raised by wolves. Instead, he looked like a college professor. Of course, he was also dressed differently, having traded jeans for khakis, a plaid flannel shirt for striped cotton with a button-down collar, and hiking boots for loafers.

  Yet there was something that hadn’t changed. And that was the way Laura felt all fluttery inside when she looked at him.

  Flinging open the front door, she was overcome with shyness.

  “Hi.” She could feel her cheeks turn what was no doubt a garish shade of pink.

  “Hi.” Cam hesitated before leaning forward and planting a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Brought you these.”

  “Thank you.” As she reached over to take the flowers her hand brushed against his. He stepped toward her, putting his arms around her and pulling her close.

  “I missed you, Laura.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Once she was in his arms, she realized just how much. The sensations of being with him were still new, yet already they were threatening to become addictive. The way his broad shoulders felt beneath her fingertips, firm and curved a certain way. The softness of his beard against her cheek. The barely perceptible scent of his skin.

  “I’ve been a nervous wreck over the prospect of seeing you again,” she confessed.

  “Why?”

  “I was afraid it would be different.”

  “Is it?”

  “No,” she said softly, raising her face to his. “It’s exactly the same.”

  * * * *

  Late that evening, as the rest of the world either slept or stubbornly prolonged the day with the help of the late-night talk-show hosts, Laura and Cam sat curled up together on the couch. She longed to lose herself in the complete bliss of being in his arms, her head tucked between his shoulder and his soft beard. But an ambivalence nagged at her.

  While she yearned to take their growing level of intimacy one step further, she was terrified. For one thing, the possibility of rejection was overwhelming. Rationally she knew it was unlikely Cam would burst out laughing upon being confronted with a naked Laura Briggs. Even so, she was hardly immune to the inferiority complexes inflicted on the female half of the population by the Claudia Schiffers and Kate Mosses of the world.

  Then there was the issue of performance—a word that invariably made Laura cringe. It conjured up images of an act that required bangles, a tambourine, and a backup band. Yet looking back at her own experience, she realized the label wasn’t entirely inappropriate. During her fifteen years of marriage, she’d routinely been scrutinized by a critic who sat in the front row taking notes, handing down reviews so negative the whole production was nearly shut down.

  Almost as if he’d been listening in on her ruminations, Cam suddenly said, “I’ve thought a lot about what it would be like to make love to you.”

  “I’ve thought about it, too,” said Laura. “But I have a confession to make. I’m as jittery as if I were the lead in the school play on opening night.”

  “You’re already my favorite star,” he assured her, stroking her cheek lightly with one finger. “You can do no wrong.”

  “Oh, Cam,” she breathed, “I lo—”

  She stopped herself, nervously searching his face.

  “Do you mean it?” asked Cam, his voice gentle.

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation.

  ‘Then say it.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, Laura.”

  ****

  Going into the bedroom a few minutes later with what was left of the Chianti from dinner, she found Cam lying in bed waiting for her, his clothes off, his head propped up by his bent arm. In the flickering light of the candles burning on the night table, his eyes looked more intense than ever, their dark brown color contrasting dramatically with the light reflected in them. The expression on his face was earnest. Deep shadows played over his face, emphasizing the strength of his features.

  “I brought the rest of the wine,” she told him, suddenly shy. Turning away, she pulled off her clothes with abrupt, jerky movements, not wanting to give him the opportunity to see her faults. She crossed the room quickly, sliding into bed. Without looking at him, she pulled the sheets up over her. The sensation of his thigh brushing against hers made her jump.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  “Nothing,” she replied too quickly. “I’m just cold.”

  “Cold ... or unsure?”

  “Well, I ...” She couldn’t lie to him, she realized. Feeling her cheeks redden, she told him, “It’s been a while.”

  “I want to look at you.”

  Laura swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  Slowly Cam pulled back the sheets. Laura held her breath—partly in an attempt at flattening her stomach, but even more as a means of bracing herself against whatever criticisms might be about to fly her way.

  “You’re beautiful,” he breathed. Already he was running his hand lightly across her nipple, down her stomach, inside her thigh.

  She realized at that moment that she truly trusted him. Trust: a word she’d thought would never be part of her vocabulary again, at least with respect to a man. Yet her gut reaction was that she was safe with him. She’d felt it in Alaska, where she’d not only entrusted him with her very survival, but poured out her heart to him as well. She’d felt it that evening over dinner, as she told him about all the fears that had plagued her since she’d left behind the romance of Alaska and come back to real life.

  Lying there beside him, gazing into his eyes, she felt all her nervousness slip away. She could feel herself letting go, allowing that feeling of complete trust to be her guide. For the first time she could remember, Laura was able to concentrate on the man beside her instead of watching herself, monitoring every move she made ... trying to view herself
through someone else’s eyes.

  She closed her eyes as he kissed her cheek, her forehead, her neck, her ear. His kisses, first light, became more ardent. Eagerly she reached for him, suddenly craving the sensation of his skin. So warm, so smooth, so surprisingly soft . . . Marveling over every sensation, she traced the line of his shoulder, his neck, his jawline. Boldly she ran her fingers down his back and across his buttocks. Through it all, she was struck by the fact that this all felt so new, as if she were with a man for the first time.

  Had it ever been this good with Roger? Laura wondered. Had she ever been so aware of the smallest sensation: the softness of the hair at the back of his neck, the tenderness of the skin near his throat? How wonderful it was simply to enjoy the sweetness of each moment ... and to make pleasing herself as much a priority as pleasing her partner. She reveled in the feeling of her breasts pushing against the hardness of his chest, the delight of running her tongue along the delicate ridge of his ear.

  Had she ever before felt this close to someone? So much at ease, so much at peace ... so happy?

  She could feel her entire body opening up to him. She pulled him close, no longer able to be apart from him. Clasping his body tightly against hers, she could hear her own breaths, quick and sharp, and throaty sounds that reminded her of a cat’s purr. All the clichés she’d ever come across in a romance novel came back to her. Surrender. Release. Ecstasy. She was experiencing them all.

  He slid inside her, his eyes locked in hers. As she and Cam moved together, their bodies so completely and so magnificently in sync, Laura was struck by the fact that what they were doing truly deserved to be called “making love.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Today we’re taking a departure from our usual format,” says Robin Leach, clasping a microphone in his hand as he stares directly into the camera. “Instead of visiting with the Rich and Famous, we’re here with lovely Laura Briggs at her lovely home in scenic Clover Hollow, located on the lovely north shore of Long Island.”

  He takes a few steps toward the back door, his eyes never wavering from the camera. “Laura is a bright star in the great publishing sky, the author of more than a dozen successful books for children. Yet it’s not her career that’s responsible for her being our guest today. It’s the unnaturally high level of satisfaction and contentment she’s achieved. Laura’s got it all—at least she thinks she does. And so we’re refilling our show. Welcome to Lifestyles of the Deliriously Happy ... !”