Rainy Days and Roses

by Dawn Douglas

  She moaned again when he lifted his head from her breasts and kissed her lips again, and she kissed him back, hard, as he drifted one hand downward, cupping her bottom and squeezing. Then his fingers found the soft curls between her thighs and stroked and played, before easing a finger up inside her, exploring, encountering slick, wet heat. Zelda gasped.

  Blindly, she pulled at his soaking wet pajamas and found him, stiff, jutting, rock-hard, and she curved her hand around his length.

  When Dan switched off the water, the silence was deafening.

  “I want you in bed.”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “Are we safe?”

  She nodded again, glad she’d never stopped taking her pill, because this was exactly what she’d wanted to happen since he walked into her apartment months ago.

  They made it out of the shower, and he swiped a towel quickly over their bodies before they staggered into the bedroom and tumbled onto his still unmade bed. He fell on top of her, and Zelda lifted her hips. She couldn’t wait another second. And when he filled her, thrusting so deeply her eyes opened wide, she called out his name and grasped his shoulders, moving against him, loving it, loving him. Her eyes filled with tears, and she didn’t know why.

  With a fierce desperation, he drove into her again and again. Zelda moved with him, wrapping her legs around his body, losing herself, forgetting everything but getting closer and closer until she heard a wild, loud cry that she recognized as her own voice.

  When it was over, he collapsed against her, and then rolled off her body, still holding her tightly. Zelda buried her face against his shoulder. She was afraid to speak, afraid to lift her head and look at him in case she saw regret. Her entire body tingled, and her heart felt as if it would burst. Wonder filled her. So sex really could be as mind-blowing as all the books and movies and songs implied. She hadn’t known.

  “Zeldie?”

  “Yes?” she whispered.

  “You okay?”

  She smiled at the tenderness in his voice and nodded.

  He lifted himself and looked down at her, his expression serious. “Did I hurt you?”

  She realized he could see her tears, and she brushed them away. “No, I’m fine.”

  He smiled his lazy smile. “For your information, I kept every one of your letters.”

  “Did you really?”

  He bent his head to kiss her, slowly and sweetly this time, as if they had all the time in the world. Outside, the rain continued furiously, rattling the windowpanes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Life had thrown him yet another curve, and as the days unfolded Dan became convinced that this one was taking him in the right direction.

  He was alive again.

  He didn’t think about what lay in the days and months ahead, or after Christmas rolled around and his mother arrived to claim the cottage. Life handed you happiness sometimes, but as inevitably as the seasons of the year, happiness faded. You just had to hold onto it while you could.

  Zelda’s expression was proud as she gazed from the kitchen at the living room floor, which they’d spent the last two days restoring. He slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her close.

  “It looks amazing,” she said. “I can hardly believe we did this.”

  They’d ripped up a vast expanse of filthy old carpet, then cleaned and sanded the wood beneath before polishing it. The living room appeared larger now, with wide boards of handsome, glowing dark oak running its length. The transformation was impressive.

  “We make quite a team, don’t we?” he said.

  She nestled against him. “Yeah, I think so.”

  He’d lit a fire, and its flames danced in the dim light of the early evening. Zelda had made a pizza, something quick for them to enjoy after all their hard work. It hit him again: that sense of everything in his life falling at last into perfect place. He’d thought a deeper involvement with her would feel complicated, difficult, but he’d been wrong. This felt easy. It felt right.

  They nibbled pizza in front of the fire, music floating in from the radio in the kitchen.

  “Dan, I’m so happy,” Zelda said softly.

  “I am too.” He knew she wanted to hear more, but he didn’t have any more to give.

  “I could live here,” she said.

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “Couldn’t you?’

  “I don’t see myself in a country village.” He changed the subject. “How are your hands?”

  Zelda frowned at her ragged fingernails.

  He kissed them, one by one. When she leaned forward longingly, he kissed her lips, and they melted together. He slid off her sweater and jeans, and she found his zipper and slowly, slowly slid it down. Her hand eased inside and found him.

  Breathing hard, Dan pulled off his clothes. He wanted to be inside her, but he also wanted to make it last. So he drove them both crazy for a while kissing every golden inch of her. Zelda sighed, straining toward him, but he continued to let his lips drift and kiss and nibble her shoulders, her full breasts, her belly, the small D tattoo on her left hip she’d sheepishly explained had come about one night when she was drunk and sixteen. He licked it, and then his tongue roved, tasting and exploring, finding where she was pink and tender, making Zelda moan and writhe.

  He rose up and slid deeply inside her, whispering her name, telling her how good she felt, making it last until he exploded. They rolled away from the fire a little. He kissed her. She sighed and snuggled against him. And the strangest, most unsettling question popped into Dan’s head.

  Was this love?

  Chapter Twelve

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Dan said.

  “Well, you are, so smile,” Zelda replied firmly.

  They presided over the white elephant stall at the Bagley Annual Winter Bazaar, held in the village hall. It was the second week in November, and they’d woken to snow that morning.

  With all his heart, Dan wished he were still tucked in bed with Zelda. Instead they stood in a draughty hall behind a table loaded with an ill-assorted mixture of sad and worn-out articles for sale—a dirty panda bear with its nose half gnawed off, a chipped tea pot, a cuckoo clock that didn’t work, and a painting of a naked woman. Every now and then Zelda leaned over the table and carefully adjusted an item, as if it were high-end merchandise in an upscale store.

  “How much have we made so far?” he asked.

  She poked around in the biscuit tin they were using to hold money. “Two pounds and fifty-three pence.”

  “We’re not going to win.”

  “There’s still time,” Zelda said. “I think we’re in with a chance.”

  “You really think we could end up taking home the giant teddy bear?”

  “Definitely.”

  Dan looked at the woman who had turned his life upside down in the past few weeks, waking him from a long, lonely slumber. Zelda’s eyes sparkled and she looked up at him innocently.

  He reached out and surreptitiously fondled her bottom.

  Stifling a giggle, she batted at his arm. “Stop it. What if the vicar sees?”

  “Hello, neighbors.”

  “Elsie, how nice you could drop by,” Zelda said. “You’ll buy something from us, won’t you? Dan is desperate to win the giant teddy bear for the most successful stall.”

  Elsie picked up the tea pot and examined it.

  “Only fifty pence,” Zelda said.

  “Go on then,” Elsie said, extracting her wallet. “I could do with a spare.”

  Vera and Bernard drifted by.

  Zelda held up the naked lady picture. “Do you need some art, guys?”

  “Is that what you call it?” Vera sniffed.

  “I think it’s very tasteful,” Zelda said. “Bernard, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Bernard sorted through his change and handed over a pound. “I’ve made some more of the gooseberry jam you like.”

  “You angel.” Zelda leaned over and kissed his c
heek, and he blushed.

  “I hope you’re treating this young lady well.” He gazed sternly at Dan.

  “I’m doing my best.”

  Zelda promised to fetch the jam the next day, and Vera and Bernard moved on. The afternoon passed, and they sold two tea plates and the cuckoo clock. Two middle-aged ladies won the giant teddy bear—their cake stall had been massively successful.

  It was late afternoon when Dan drove back to Rose Cottage, and as they stepped into the kitchen, it came to him that at some point he’d started to think of this place as home.

  He’d never envisaged himself living in a tiny cottage tucked away in a small English village. As Zelda warmed plates for the fish and chips they’d picked up, he took in the quirky charm of the place. But he knew its charm and coziness weren’t the reasons he’d started to think of Rose Cottage as home. Zelda was the reason. Her smile, her laugh, the quiet times when she took his hand and they sat together. They were the things that made this place a home.

  He was quiet as they ate. Maybe he could leave the work on the kitchen until after Christmas. He’d get it done quickly, as soon as the holidays were over, before his mother returned. Dan’s smile faded at the thought of the coming weeks, at the thought of Zelda returning to Denver.

  Should he follow her?

  America had ceased to be his home when his parents divorced, and he’d never seriously considered the possibility of returning. He had no idea where he and Zelda were headed, and he wasn’t giving it a lot of thought. What they had was new and fragile. The idea of forming a plan, of thinking about the future, made fear swirl uneasily in the pit of his stomach. He’d had a future all laid out with Faith, a lifetime’s worth of plans and dreams. Sometimes you just had to live in the moment because the future held no guarantees.

  Bedtime rolled around, and he was still thoughtful.

  “Are you really so disappointed we didn’t win the giant teddy bear?” Zelda teased as she climbed into bed.

  They’d started using his bedroom because it was larger and held a double bed. On Dan’s side the nightstand held his spare change and cell phone. Zelda’s held three cook books, a bottle of hand lotion, and a bag of peanuts. He always pretended to be cross she liked to eat peanuts in bed.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, pulling off his socks.

  She massaged a blob of lotion into her hands and listened.

  “We had the windows double glazed last week, we’ve restored the wood floors, and redone the bathroom. That just leaves the kitchen.”

  “Right.”

  He noticed the sudden tension in her body as her face assumed a carefully neutral expression. She loved Rose Cottage’s inadequate, pitifully old-fashioned kitchen. He had no idea why, but she did.

  “I was thinking of leaving the kitchen alone until the New Year.”

  “Why?”

  “I know you like it the way it is.”

  “But what’s that got to do with anything? The whole reason for us being here is to fix up this place before your mother returns in January.”

  “Yeah.” He frowned, unsure of how to put his jumbled thoughts into words.

  It was as if the kitchen was Zelda’s. It was where she cooked their meals as she listened to the radio. In the mornings they ate toast and marmalade together at the kitchen table and he read the newspaper. The kitchen was theirs. It worked for them just the way it was. And once he’d gutted it and put in a brand new floor and maple cabinets and all the rest of it, it wouldn’t be theirs any longer. It would be just another efficient, modern, brand-new gleaming kitchen. It would be his mother’s kitchen.

  “I think we need to remember this place doesn’t belong to us,” her voice was quiet. “What we like doesn’t come into it.”

  He nodded slowly. She was right.

  Zelda placed the lotion down on her nightstand and picked up a book, opening it where she’d left off.

  “So what happens after January?” he said.

  “I’m not sure,” she replied softly. “What are your plans?”

  His laugh was hollow. “I don’t make plans anymore.”

  A few more minutes passed in silence before Zelda closed her book and lay down to sleep. Dan switched off his lamp and snuggled against her, but for once she wasn’t responsive, and he turned on his back and stared up into the darkness.

  He’d never told Zelda he loved her, never said those words to any woman but Faith. He just didn’t know if he could. Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure up an image of his dead wife, but all that came back to him was the faintest echo of her voice. Instead he saw Zelda. The way she’d laugh at some joke and find herself unable to stop, the way she’d launch herself into his arms when he walked in the door, the way the lost, broken places inside him seemed to fall into place and become whole when he was with her.

  When he rose the following morning, the bed was empty. Zelda was downstairs, and her smile was subdued as she looked up at him from her mug of coffee.

  “Can we get out for a bit this morning?” He poured himself a cup.

  She opened her mouth as if to refuse and then, as if sensing he needed her to agree, she nodded.

  The sea was just twenty minutes away, the pebbly beach completely deserted. The bitter wind whipped Zelda’s curls around her face as she emerged from the car and pulled up her hood.

  They walked toward the gray rolling waves of the sea, the morning sun sparkling off its surface. Dan took Zelda’s hand and squeezed it, and she glanced up at him with a look that held such love and trust his heart contracted. He never wanted to hurt her.

  In the past few weeks they’d talked a lot. She loved reading and old movies and cats and wanted to own her own restaurant and grow vegetables. Dan had shared thoughts about his work and travels and how he was seriously considering building his own place someday.

  But so much remained unsaid. They’d never discussed where they were headed or even if they were heading anywhere. In less than two months his mother would be returning from her extended honeymoon, new husband in tow, to claim the cottage. And Dan knew Zelda deserved some answers, some idea of what might happen then, but the future was like some dark, uncharted territory he was afraid to venture into for fear of what it might hold. All he knew was he was happy right now, happier than he’d ever thought he would be again.

  She sighed and lowered herself onto a rock. He joined her. The sea rushed up the beach and back again, the waves high and gray. The sky was a deep pink.

  “We’ve got this all to ourselves,” Zelda remarked softly, glancing around.

  “You know,” Dan began awkwardly. “I’ve been really happy these past few weeks with you.”

  She bowed her head and picked up a pebble, examining it intently.

  “I mean, I never thought I could experience this kind of happiness again.”

  “But?” Zelda whispered.

  Dan swallowed. “But there’s Faith. There’ll always be Faith.”

  The pebble dropped with a soft clink, and Zelda took his hand, squeezed it gently. He curled his fingers tightly around her.

  “She was like a force of nature,” he said quietly. “She just stormed her way into my heart, and I didn’t stand a chance. I never, ever thought I could feel the way I felt when I was with her.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “I was remodeling the legal office where she worked. She was a lawyer.” He smiled at the memory of himself strolling into the building with no idea his life was about to change forever. “She kept asking my opinions on things, and then she talked me into having lunch with her one day...”

  An hour slipped by.

  Dan talked about the woman he’d fallen in love with after his initial impression that she was just another spoiled, over-privileged English girl with a snooty accent. She had nice clothes, had traveled all over the world, and drove a new car. But there was actually nothing spoiled about Faith. She cared passionately about people and regularly donated her services to a domestic abuse shelter
. Spiders and bugs that wandered into her house were carefully and gently released into the outdoors. She worried about the world’s poor and hungry. Faith was also one of the funniest women he’d ever met. No party in London was complete without her. Everyone who met her seemed to fall in love.

  His voice cracked a few times as he spoke, and Dan would fall silent. Zelda shuffled a little closer on the rock, her hand still in his.

  They’d both wanted a simple wedding, but to please her family, it had ended up being pretty spectacular, with a reception held in the grounds of Faith’s ancestral home. Dan closed his eyes, and fragments of the happiest day of his life floated through his head; hundreds of shimmering candles, a flock of doves soaring into the sky, the sweetness of his new wife’s kiss.

  They’d settled in north London, near her work, in a house large enough to raise the kids they wanted to have someday. The garden was an unexpected oasis of apple trees and roses and sunshine in the midst of the city. And then, at the age of twenty-seven, Faith was diagnosed. Dan’s voice grew tired and slow as he remembered it all, the dark and arduous journey that cancer had taken them on.

  Words ran out, and he stared blindly at the crashing, rolling waves, then released a deep breath. The pain inside eased and faded. He saw Faith’s smile, remembered her as she’d been before the illness took hold. The sun rose in the sky, shining down on the beach like a benediction. Zelda’s hand in his had grown cold, and he sensed the shiver running through her. She sat unmoving beside him.

  Dan stood, then tugged Zelda to her feet, smiling. “Time to go home.”

  They returned to Rose Cottage, and for once, the sky was clear of clouds. A sense of peace suffused Dan, as if he’d reached the end of a long, rocky road. Zelda was quiet all day. As she chopped vegetables for their lunch, he slipped his arms around her from behind. He missed all the usual chatter, the sound of her singing along to the radio, her cooking lectures and terrible jokes. How had he ever done without her? Nuzzling away the curls covering the back of her neck, he kissed the tender flesh there.

  Zelda went very still and laid the knife down on the chopping board beside the neat slices of zucchini and onion. Turning, she hugged Dan hard, almost desperately, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding on as if she never wanted to let go. He kissed the top of her head, then retreated a step and lifted her chin tenderly so she was looking straight into his eyes. The love he saw there almost took his breath away. He framed her face gently within his hands.