A Sin Such as This

by Ellen Hopkins

  His mother wanted him institutionalized.

  His sister hated him for his disability.

  Coworkers he believed were his friends actually mocked him, and later resented him enough to get him fired.

  The woman he fell in love with could never be his soul mate.

  Was his previous ignorance, in fact, bliss?

  I’ve just reached the part where smart Charlie’s research finds a flaw in the scientific theory behind the intelligence-augmenting procedures he and mouse Algernon were subjected to.

  Having understood the world on different terms, what would it mean to revert?

  How can so few pages contain such immense questions?

  I read until exhaustion finally overtakes me. Cavin still isn’t home when I give in to the lure of couch cushions and a luxurious velour throw. Sinking into their comfort, I can’t help but conjure a slow-motion video of my earlier cat-and-mouse game in the office. If mature men are easy, inexperienced men are more so. Even boys as bright as Eli are rocket fueled by libido.

  But it was really rather nice, and my own libido rises as I replay the short encounter. I close my eyes, allow my own hands to play the role of young lover. Self-pleasuring can never match the energy of the real thing, but it does take the edge off enough to allow a slow drift toward slumber.

  When my bladder rouses me, I wake to an unlit house. I use the hall bathroom and travel as quietly as I can toward our silent bedroom, where my husband snores softly on his side of the mattress. The nightstand clock informs me it’s four o’clock in the dark of morning.

  I wiggle out of my clothes, and when I lift the sheets, I’m greeted by the smell of fresh soap and shampoo wafting off Cavin’s blanket-warmed skin. A veil of suspicion envelops me. He showered when he got home, that’s abundantly clear. The pertinent question is, why?

  Regardless, desire erupts like the recent mango-fueled hives—fast, hot, insistent. I reach for my man, certain my touch will disturb his dreams, coax him into consciousness, as it always has in the past.

  He stirs.

  Nothing more.

  I soothe two fingers along the contours of his side, down his leg.

  Lost in sleep, he sighs.

  Fully conscious of my own limitations, I turn into his heat. Kiss his mouth. His neck. Pause my lips at the beat of his heart.

  Steady.

  Slow.

  Not so much as a hopeful flutter.

  My hand explores the few curls on his chest. Belly. Drops to caress the muscles of his thighs, and turns so my fingertips brush his cock, which at last promises to consider my inspired invitation.

  It rouses.

  Writhes.

  At last refuses.

  Still submerged in slumber, Cavin moans. Turns over.

  I shrink back into my pillow, a barrage of what-ifs volleying against the inner walls of my skull. I won’t sleep now, so I get up and dress in flannel to ward off the cool of not quite dawn. I return to the couch and my book, where Charlie struggles with the meaning of his sexual being.

  Him and me, both.

  thirty-eight

  S ATURDAY MORNING, HUGE DAY ahead, I’m up just a couple of hours beyond the time I went to bed. The rest of the house is asleep. Cavin is the first to make an appearance, and I’m glad for that. I’ve got questions the others don’t need to hear voiced.

  Hair tousled, eyes holding fast to the remnants of dreams, he smiles. “Morning, milady. How was your evening?”

  Ignoring the pointless question, I gesture toward the kitchen counter. “There’s coffee.”

  “I know. I can smell it, and you’ve got a cup in your hand.” He goes to pour one for himself. “Something wrong?”

  “You got in late.”

  “I told you that was possible. You’re not angry about that, are you?”

  “Depends.”

  “On . . . ?”

  I consider my words carefully. “Why didn’t you wake me up when you got home?”

  He sips his coffee and scans my face, trying to read my expression. “I tried, actually. You were too far gone. I figured maybe you and Melody tied one on.”

  “No, it was actually epinephrine and me, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  “What?”

  “The strudel had mango in it. Apparently, Suzette wasn’t aware of my allergy.”

  He sets down his cup, comes over, puts one hand on each cheek, and dips his face to look into my eyes. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  I back away and his hands drop. “I did. No response. Don’t get me wrong. I knew it was a long shot that you’d notice the call. Besides, I didn’t want to disturb your . . .”

  “My what?”

  “Fun.”

  He grins. Straightens. “It wasn’t that fun.”

  “Good to know.”

  “You are mad.”

  “Not really.”

  “What about?”

  “You showered when you got home.”

  He should be used to my forthrightness by now, so I’m a little surprised when he takes a step back and cocks his head. “Uh, yeah. I spent four hours in a casino and came home permeated with cigarette smoke. Why would you think I’d do something as crazy as soap and water otherwise? Scrubbing away evidence of sex?”

  All I can do is shrug.

  “Seriously, Tara? Misplaced jealousy does not become you. Is this because your sister’s here?”

  Odd question.

  “Is what because I’m here?”

  We both start at the sound of Mel’s voice, preceding her up the stairs. At least she gave fair warning.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  But Cavin takes the direct approach. “Tara seems to have it in her head that I got laid while I was out last night.”

  “Oh,” says Mel, quite obviously doing her best not to react. “Um, I’ll go on outside and let you, uh, discuss. Mind if I grab some coffee first?”

  “Help yourself,” huffs Cavin, moving out of her way.

  The three of us look in different directions, as if giving each other access to our thought-processing rituals might make them moot.

  At this point, I couldn’t care less about what Mel thinks. Her brain is askew anyway. As for Cavin, the worst thing about his assertion is I can’t find a reasonable way to deny it. Not that I’d even try with Melody as a witness. The last thing I’d want is her testimony. Besides, it’s her birthday. Not her zoo, not her orangutans, bring the lady a cupcake.

  That reminds me. “Happy birthday, by the way,” I say when she walks past, mug in hand.

  “It’s tomorrow, remember? But thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” Rather than choose the deck, where she’s bound to overhear something she shouldn’t, she opts for the front door.

  I don’t see Cavin angry very often, but he’s definitely pissed now, which makes my own anger retreat like a spider into a corner. I lower my voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be paranoid, but the thing is, when I came to bed last night, I wanted sex. I tried very hard to rouse you, or at least your penis, but no go. I guess that made me a little hurt and a lot suspicious.”

  “Okay. So, why didn’t you just wait a little and try again?”

  “Fair question. I guess I just don’t feel very confident lately. In fact, I feel like a big, bloated slug. I can’t work out like I want to, and I have no reason to put on makeup or dress in something pretty. You deserve better.”

  His whole frame softens. “Tara, I don’t care about any of that. While I might have initially been attracted to the package, I fell in love with the woman beneath the wrapping.”

  I drop the tense demeanor. “Easy to say. Harder to believe. I’ll work on it, though.”

  “So, all is well?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Did you win or lose last night? At the tables, I mean.”

  “May I pour you another cup of coffee?”

  Uh-oh. “Are you changing the subject?”

  “I
suppose I was trying. Fact is, I was up quite a bit for a while, but in the end I lost a bill.”

  “A bill? Like a hundred?”

  He clenches his jaw. “Like a thousand.”

  That is not what I wanted to hear. “I see.”

  “But don’t worry. I keep a special gaming account. My winnings always go in there, and it’s still very much in the black.”

  The more you learn. I wish I would’ve taken a better look at that ATM withdrawal receipt in his car. I never thought to check account numbers. I’ll have to be smarter going forward. “It’s hard not to worry about it, Cavin.”

  “I know. I’ll try to do better myself.”

  “Better as in don’t gamble as much, or better as in win more often than you lose?”

  “Both.”

  One is in his control, the other not. Still, I make an effort to lighten the conversation. “Well, there goes that Hawaiian vacation.”

  “Don’t say that. I’ll set up a lemonade stand to make up for it.”

  We both fake laugh, and I guess that’s that for the moment because I really have to concentrate on what lies ahead today. “I should probably leave here around noon. It’s an hour to the winery, and the tour begins at two. That should give me plenty of time to iron out any bugs.”

  “Is Eli riding with you?”

  “Yes, and Melody, too. Eli wanted to bring his own car, but parking will be limited. I told him he could drive the Escalade home if he wants to leave early, and I’ll hitch a ride with you. We can figure that out on the far end.”

  “You trust Eli with your car?” He sounds incredulous.

  I smile. “He’s borrowed it before and always returned it without a scratch. In fact, I think that new little ding in the door happened under your watch.”

  Cavin’s cheeks flare. “Runaway shopping cart, and it wasn’t mine. Sorry. I kind of hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

  “How well do you know me, my darling? I notice everything, at least about things that matter to me.”

  An odd look crosses his face, one I can’t decipher. “I can talk to a body shop, get an estimate.”

  “I’m sure the repair would cost a lot more than a small annoyance is worth.”

  “You’re probably right. So . . .” Abrupt subject change. “About tonight. What time should I get there?”

  “Five thirty-ish. The buses will return around then, and the bar will be open. Dinner’s at six, and Graham’s band will fire up for dancing at seven.”

  “You don’t need help with anything before that?”

  “I believe we’ve got everything covered. Just show up on time, looking like the debonair doctor you are.”

  “I will arrive promptly, dressed to the nines in tails and stethoscope.”

  “A regular tux will do, and please make sure the stethoscope matches your cummerbund. Oh. You could do me a favor. Mel’s girls are bringing sleeping bags, but apparently Cassandra’s son doesn’t possess such a thing. Could you please locate one for Taylor and put it in the game room? Everyone not claiming a spot on a bed will sleep on the floor in there.”

  “Sounds like a recipe for teenage foul play.”

  “If kids want to play, they’ll find a way. Not my job to worry about it.”

  “I suppose that’s true. So the plan is for everyone to meet up at the winery, right? No one’s coming by here first?”

  We’ve been over this. Did he forget? “The house will remain guest free until after the event. Then tomorrow we’ll celebrate Mel’s birthday with a lake cruise on the MS Dixie II.”

  “You are quite the planner.”

  “It is a strong suit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get beautiful.”

  I send Cavin downstairs to remind Eli he needs to be ready by noon, then sequester myself in the master bath, where I spend way too much time perfecting my makeup and hair. By the time I withdraw from our bedroom, new dress revealing a fair amount of sun-kissed skin, it is almost time to go. Luckily, Melody is waiting, and so is Eli.

  When he sees me, he actually wolf whistles. “Wow, Mom, if that dress doesn’t net you some large donations, I don’t know what would.” At my cross look, he adds, “I know, I know. Don’t call you Mom.”

  Melody, whose pink sundress exposes even more skin than mine, says, “I think it’s kind of cute when you call her Mom.”

  At least she found some semblance of a sense of humor.

  thirty-nine

  T HE TOUR OF THE Fresh for Families farms goes off without a hitch. I serve as escort for one bus, and Jason takes charge of the second. Eli and Melody volunteer to stay behind to help with the food and set up the silent auction.

  Before we leave, Mel pulls me aside. “Your Jason is kind of cute. Is he attached?”

  “First of all, he’s not ‘mine,’ and no, he isn’t attached, at least not that I’m aware of. I’m surprised you’re interested, though. I thought you were trying to work on your marriage.”

  She shrugs. “Doesn’t hurt to have options.”

  It’s a valid opinion.

  Eli is all business, effortlessly coordinating caterers, winery workers, and volunteers. He’s mature way beyond his years. I’m glad I decided to trust him. And who knows? Maybe he does have a future in fund-raising, or at least event planning.

  The coaches are comfortable, and the farmers are accommodating, graciously answering every question while guiding us around their properties, some of which are already dormant beneath the early autumn sun. It’s a gorgeous afternoon, with only a small breeze carrying the perfumes of soil and toasted cornstalks, the vague scent of manure.

  We pull back into the winery parking lot at 5:28, right on time. I’m proud of that, too. I am quite the planner. Destined donors exit the buses and head straight to the bar or to the patio, where hors d’oeuvres await and barbecue smoke trails into the darkening sky.

  I’m gratified to see the seamless motion.

  Outside, where big warming trays hold a fragrant array of foods, Eli converses with the head caterer, perhaps about a career in the business. Who knows? I circle the long tables, nod approvingly, and give Eli an awkward hug.

  “Everything looks wonderful. Thank you.”

  “No problem, Mom.”

  For once that doesn’t bother me.

  Inside, on the far end of the large tasting room, Graham and his guys are setting up instruments and amplifiers. When he sees me, Graham offers a vague smile and gives a small wave. I circle the room to ask, “Anything you need?”

  “A happier wife?”

  We both glance toward Melody, who’s pretending to watch Suzette and Jessica put pencils next to the silent auction sheets. But we know her sour scowl means she’s been monitoring our innocent exchange.

  All I can do is sigh.

  “Be sure to grab something to eat before you start to play. Logan is barbecuing tri tip. He insisted on providing the meat, says it’s his specialty.”

  “As soon as we finish here,” agrees Graham.

  Cars keep arriving, spilling people happy to celebrate FFF’s accomplishments. Jason and his volunteers direct them to the bar and food, and the evening is off to a splendid start.

  Cavin has yet to make an appearance.

  I’m only slightly annoyed. Well, slightly more than slightly.

  Regardless, I have work to do. I circulate, inviting our guests to please detour into a back room where the expertly crafted video plays in an endless loop, reminding them of the wide network of growers committed to helping families in need and how their donations, large or small, can help them, too.

  I’m outside, talking wine with Logan and his wife, when a familiar squeal slices through the laughter and chatter. “Eli!”

  Kayla rushes over to him, jumps up and puts her arms around his neck, then kisses him long and hard. Inappropriate for this setting. Even Eli looks embarrassed, and nothing fazes that kid. Luckily, Taylor joins them, giving Eli the excuse to pull slightly away, though Kayla keeps a tight hold on his hand.
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  “Hey, girl. You look amazing.” It’s Cassandra, with Charlie close behind, and I realize I’ve missed her. It’s good to see her face. She’s the closest thing to a motiveless friend I’ve ever had, and while our conversations rarely ran very deep, at least we talked.

  “So happy you made it.” I reach for a quick hug. “You, too, Charlie. Thanks so much for coming and for bringing Kayla along.”

  “No problem,” he says. “She added entertainment value.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. She and Taylor explored a laundry list of conspiracy theories. Did you know that 9/11 was part of a government plot to invade Iraq in a quest for oil?”

  I grin. “I’ve heard that theory advanced, yes. Sounds reasonable to me. But then, I still believe in unicorns.”

  “Oh my God,” he says. “You, too?”

  “The two of you can discuss that later,” interrupts Cassandra, “along with Bigfoot and Tahoe Tessie. But where’s that gorgeous doctor of yours?”

  “Making house calls, apparently. I haven’t seen him.”

  “He’s right there,” insists Charlie, pointing behind me.

  I turn and there he, in fact, is, with Melody at his side. When they get closer, they split.

  Drink in hand, Mel goes to talk to Kayla, who must’ve ignored saying hello in her effort to glom onto Eli. Cavin comes over to me, looking elegant in a tail-less, stethoscope-free tux. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “An accident on fifty had the highway backed up for miles.” He’s never without a logical excuse, and he isn’t all that late, anyway. He turns his attention to Cassandra and Charlie. “So good to see you again. Quite the shindig my wife has created, isn’t it?”

  They agree that it is, and I encourage them to get some food before the music begins. “I expect a dance or two,” I tell Cavin.