Remember the Time

by Annette Reynolds

  “Where did they come from?”

  “This is ridiculous. Why don’t you tell me where you got them? Did you take them from the tower?”

  “They’re not Paul.”

  Kate snorted. “What are you talking about? Of course they’re Paul.”

  “They’re not Paul,” he repeated. “I know. Because these are photos of me.”

  “This is outrageous. You take these out of my house and then try to tell me I don’t know my own husband?”

  “I’m telling you the truth.” Matt pulled a photograph out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to her. She snatched it from him. It was identical to the second picture she’d looked at. “Turn it over,” he said.

  She read the words written in blue ink. Matt—age 1 ½—Clinton, MD

  “I don’t get it,” she said almost to herself. “Why would Paul have photos of you?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  Kate stared up into his hazel eyes, forcing her mind to work logically. “Let me see the envelope.” Matt silently passed it over to her. It told her nothing, and she gave it back to him. “Mike must’ve sent them,” Kate finally stated.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know why,” she said angrily. “And your time is up.”

  Kate walked away from him, her thoughts turning back to Mike. By the time Matt let himself out of the shop, she’d already forgotten he’d been there.

  It had been so long since she’d been in the store that the inventory seemed to have completely changed. Kate wandered through the rooms and found new pleasure in the old pieces. Three customers, all men, came in before noon, and all three found the perfect last-minute Christmas gifts for their wives.

  Kate made her way upstairs with a box of linens with the intention of exchanging dusty for clean. Each room in the shop represented a room in a real house, and each was decorated in a different style. She entered the “library,” with its mission oak furniture, leather-bound books, and Persian rugs, and saw it immediately.

  It had to be the most elegant lamp ever made by Handel. A perfect dome of cream-colored glass reverse-painted in shades of taupe floated above the slender deep-copper base. Where on earth had Cindy found it? As Kate walked toward the table it sat on, she realized she’d been holding her breath. The closer she got, the more flawless it appeared. Reaching out, she ran a finger over the cool glass. It was perfect. And when she found the switch and turned it on, she gasped. “You are a beauty,” she whispered.

  “Kate?”

  She whirled around. “Cindy. You scared me.”

  “I’ve been yelling for you since I came in.” Her partner pointed at the lamp. “Isn’t that something?”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “Didn’t you see my note?” Cindy said. “It arrived a few days ago. No return address on the label. There was an envelope in the crate addressed to you. I left it under the tray in the register.”

  Kate turned to look at the lamp once more and, for the first time, noticed the “For Display Only” card.

  “You think it’s a gift?” she asked.

  Cindy shrugged. “I just figured I’d better wait before I put a price on it.”

  Kate followed Cindy down the staircase to the old-fashioned brass and wood cash register in the entry. The note in the envelope, on rose-colored heavy stock, was typewritten: My gift to you is your gift to him, which I hope will become my gift to both of you someday. Be happy.

  “Julia,” Kate said softly. “Oh, Julia, you shouldn’t have.” Then she laughed out loud as she remembered the day she’d told her friend about the Tiffany lamp that sat in her own study. The memory had been brought on by the same Handel lamp that now sat in her shop.

  Julia’s husband had given it to her as a Christmas gift, and Julia had said the same thing that Kate had said to Paul. “Either I’ve been very, very good, or you’ve been very, very bad.” Only she’d added her own Juliaism. “Oh, but what am I saying? I’m always very, very good …”

  Kate hadn’t recognized it because the lamp had been crated, and she’d only had Julia’s description to go by when they inventoried it.

  Cindy was smiling at her. “It’s good to see you here, Kate. Good to have you back.”

  Kate looked up from the note and reached for Cindy’s hand. “I’m sorry for not being here. For making you deal with everything on your own.”

  “What’s going on with you, Kate? Some kind of good news that you’ve been keeping from me?” Cindy paused. “Have you met a new man?”

  Kate smiled distractedly, and answered, “No, not a new one.” She quickly hugged Cindy. “Well, my shift is over. I’m going to pack up the lamp and go.”

  “Merry Christmas, Kate.”

  “Same to you, Cindy.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The doorbell rang, scattering his thoughts. Mike opened the door to find the object of his day-dream standing on the porch.

  “Since when do you use the front door?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t sure if I was still welcome at the back.” When he didn’t respond, Kate said, “I guess that answers my question.”

  He stood aside to let her in, but she bent down, and it was then he noticed the large box at her feet.

  They silently walked into the kitchen and Kate placed the box on the table. “It’s for you. Open it.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “We will. But first I want you to open this.”

  Mike pulled back the flaps. It was wrapped in an old sheet and he lifted it out. As he unwound the cloth, she said, “Lamps seem to be the way to forgiveness in these parts.”

  Gently setting the beautiful combination of glass and metal on the table, he said, “I wish you hadn’t.”

  “I didn’t. Not really.” He looked at her across the table. “Julia sent it to the shop.”

  “I don’t know how to deal with what you and Matt did.”

  “I know,” she said. “I can’t make it go away. But I can try to make you understand what happened.”

  “And I guess I can listen.”

  “Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure what I believe anymore.”

  Kate looked away, trying to erase the look of resignation in his eyes. But it didn’t work, and she had to face it anyway.

  “I’m sorry and ashamed for what I did, Mike. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I’d hit rock bottom that night. Homer was missing, I was drunk. I was scared. And then I took some painkillers.” She moved around the table to stand closer to him. “There’s a reason they tell you not to mix those with alcohol. They turn you into the stupidest person alive. By then I truly didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “What difference would it have made? Would you have been any less hurt?”

  She waited, and he finally said, “No.”

  “Mike, I just don’t know what to say here. For what it’s worth, I think I lost my mind for a while that night. It wasn’t Matt there with me.”

  “But it wasn’t me, cither.”

  Completely frustrated, she said, “No. It wasn’t. And I can’t help that, Mike. But I wasn’t the only one to blame for that. Matt’s become totally obsessed with Paul. It was so damned convenient for him.”

  Mike stepped away from her. He didn’t want to hear any more. What he suddenly wanted was to take her right there—to fuck her until she screamed out his name. Because then he’d know she was really his, and his alone.

  “Mike, the only reason he did what he did was because I’d been Paul’s. He’s been taking things out of the tower room. He’s been hounding me about Paul.” She turned her head and ran a hand through her hair. When she looked at Mike again, something in his eyes made her quickly go on. “He followed me to the shop today. Even after I told him to leave me alone …” At the end of her rope, she began scrambling for something to save her. Her
hand went to his forearm. “We didn’t have sex.” She could feel the muscle tighten, and she gripped him harder, forcing him to acknowledge her. “We didn’t. If I can’t make you believe that—”

  Without warning she was backed up against the counter, his thigh between her legs. His hands gripped her face, and his mouth—his tongue—stopped any other thoughts she had. Shock turned to desire. Like the inescapable pull of a magnet, Kate’s body met his.

  When he was finally able to draw away from her, he said, “I believe you. The subject is closed.”

  The only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. Kate wiped unsteady fingers across her lips, her eyes never leaving Mike’s.

  “The perfect place for that lamp is my bedroom,” he said.

  “Yes,” she answered. “Let’s try it there.”

  They both knew what they were talking about, and it had nothing to do with the lamp. It remained on the kitchen table, a forgotten prop.

  The faint strains of Robert Cray drifted into the bedroom from his study, where he’d been working when she’d come to the door.

  Kate stood in the center of the room, the late afternoon sunlight turning her hair to molten lava. She held out her hand.

  “Dance with me.”

  Meshing his fingers with hers, he drew her close. “I didn’t come up here to dance.”

  Her arm came up to surround his neck. “Just for a minute,” she whispered.

  The music was unadorned in its sensuality. The loneliness of the lyrics wasn’t lost on them, and they gravitated closer. Thigh to thigh, pelvis to pelvis, they slowly moved. Time came to a standstill as they became lost in the mournful sounds. As naturally as breathing, his lips found hers. They unwittingly teased each other—holding back. Holding back. Their mouths touched, fluttered away, touched again, nibbled, until the tip of her tongue touched his. It was what he imagined liquid fire must feel like. Suddenly they were standing still, his hand grasping the back of her neck. She tasted of the coffee she’d had earlier, hot and sweet, and he drank deeply.

  The sounds in the room telescoped down to a melancholy saxophone and their hard breathing. Her fingers traveled up the muscles of his back until they found his neck, where they began a mindless caress. Finding the music’s measure again, she swayed against him and felt him—solid. She moaned when his hands moved down to pull her into him. The male scent of him overwhelmed her. How had she stood it this long?

  They both sensed a new plateau and stepped away from each other, dazed.

  Her eyes, dark with desire, held his as she bent to remove her boots. Her hands disappeared behind her, and then her skirt slid to the floor with a swishing sound. The black tights she wore inched down over her hips, revealing smooth thighs that looked so creamy he dropped to his knees to taste them. His work-roughened hands moved up the back of her legs and she shuddered, rocking forward.

  He was lost in the reality of her. The dreams and fantasies were nothing compared to this. He wanted it all and here she was in front of him. And he didn’t want to wait anymore. He buried his face in her stomach, and his tongue found her navel and rimmed it slowly. She gasped and clutched at his hair. Pulling away from her, he undid her blouse.

  Mike stood and pushed the silky green fabric off her shoulders. His hand cupped her breast as he bent to place a deep kiss in the hollow of her neck. She had to hold on to him. Her knees had gone weak.

  “Katie, darlin’,” he whispered. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

  She took his hand and guided it to her belly. “Feel,” she said. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and into the wet of her. She groaned. “I’m here and I want you.”

  “I’ve dreamed about this.”

  “Was I any good? In those dreams?”

  He let his breath out. Without a word he laid her on the bed.

  Kate watched as he undressed and realized she was trembling. As he slowly pulled off her panties, and she lay naked next to him, she said, “It’s been a long time for me, Mike.”

  “I know.” And as he said the words, he was suddenly flooded with apprehension at what he thought would be the inevitable comparison to Paul.

  Kate saw the look of doubt flicker through his eyes, and her heart went out to him. She could tell him over and over again that Paul didn’t matter anymore, but would he believe it?

  “I don’t want to wait anymore,” she said.

  Unable to restrain himself any longer, he pulled her on top of him. Her cool, bare skin on his own—already feverish—sent a chill through him. When she brought her lips to his, her nipples grazed his chest. Like two small bullets, they seared him, and he shut his eyes.

  Her thighs had closed around him and he could feel her, slick, as she pushed against his erection. Her hips rolled to the music. Her mouth was relentless as she devoured his lips, his tongue, his neck. He was murmuring her name over and over again in counterpoint to her small moaning sounds. He was lost and never wanted to find his way back. He had never felt like this before.

  When his fingers skimmed the inner cleft of her buttocks, she gave a little cry and tucked herself in closer to him. His need for her ferocious now, he swiftly rolled over, taking her with him. Her legs opened to him and she whispered, “Please, Mike, please …”

  Her throaty voice saying his name brought him to the edge, and he plunged into her without another thought.

  Mike waited in the bathroom while she dressed. He had already pulled on his jeans, and now sat on the toilet, head in hands.

  They’d lain there in devastating silence when it was over. God, it had been awkward. She had done a good job of faking her orgasm. A lot of practice had gone into that performance, but he hadn’t been fooled. And he’d come fast and hard after that.

  Her desire had been genuine. Of that he was sure. It had been a tangible thing he’d reached out and taken hold of and run with. And he’d held back, letting her dictate the terms. When she’d cried out, shuddered, and gripped the back of his neck he had been too far gone. He couldn’t stop and question her at that time any more than he could stop the sun from rising.

  But even his climax hadn’t felt right. It had been nothing more than a quick release. He might as well have been jerking off.

  Mike knew what the problem was, and he walked back into the bedroom. Kate looked up from pulling on her boots, and then quickly looked away.

  “Wasn’t quite what we expected, was it,” Mike said.

  “Not quite.” She stood and adjusted her skirt. “I—I don’t know what happened.”

  “I can’t speak for you, but there’s still too much of Matt between us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means this isn’t about you and me and Matt. It’s about just me and Matt. And I need to deal with that.”

  She nodded, then said, “So what does that mean?”

  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “It means I need to be here for Sheryl. For Christmas. And I need to hash this out with Matt. And you and I need to take a break from each other until I can come to terms with everything.”

  “You’re scaring me, Mike. It’ll get better.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted, and he reached out to cup her face. “I know that, darlin’. But I think you need a little time, too.”

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know. Let me get through Christmas.”

  Kate took the hand that caressed her cheek in her own. The tip of her tongue followed the lifeline, sending a wave of heat through Mike’s groin.

  “I have such a great gift for you,” she said.

  Kate let the warm bathwater soothe her. She hadn’t wanted to wash off Mike’s scent, but she was keyed up and confused. Yes, she’d wanted him. Wanted him even now. No, she didn’t know what had caused her to shut down. Mike was everything she’d hoped for.

  The differences between Mike and Paul were striking. How could two men so dissimilar—physically and spiritually—have been such good friends? De
spite what she knew now, of Mike’s feelings for her and of Paul’s lack thereof, she knew there had been genuine affection between the two. In youth they’d been inseparable. And in the advance of adulthood, which tended to drive people apart with different careers and interests and friends, they’d managed to keep their friendship alive. She’d always remember the look on Paul’s face when he knew he’d be seeing Mike: boyish, mischievous, playful. The two of them could come up with the most hideous practical jokes, the most disgusting foods, the most torturous puns, and the best stories she’d ever heard.

  She could remember Paul’s anticipation when he knew that not only was Mike coming for a visit, but that he was bringing his latest girlfriend. He’d delighted in giving Mike a complete appraisal that always ended with, “But she’s no Kate, huh, bud?”

  This sudden memory startled Kate. She’d always taken the words as a compliment from her husband, but now saw them for what they were. A dig at Mike. So, Paul had known all along how Mike felt about her.

  Pain stabbed at her at this small revelation. Pain for her. Pain for Mike. Funny how we remember what we want.

  And now, in the quiet of her bathroom with only the occasional drip of the faucet to punctuate her thoughts, Kate realized it wasn’t hard to figure out when she’d stopped responding to Paul. The knowledge of what she assumed was his first affair, and the later unraveling of all the lies he’d woven together, brought about a slow loss of trust. Her inability to conceive, his reaction to that, proved the center couldn’t hold. She’d wanted the old Paul back, and the harder she’d tried, the worse it had gotten. They began making love—if that’s what it could be called—in the dark. It had become anonymous, with Kate trying to recapture the old days, and Paul simply using her available body. Her own pleasure had gone by the wayside.

  She remembered too many nights of Paul taking her with no preliminaries, his body then rolling off her, his falling asleep while she lay in the dark, hurt and scared. Sometimes she would cry. Most of the time she’d get up, go to the kitchen, and lose herself in a bottle of wine.

  The worst part was they never talked about it. Their friends wouldn’t have guessed they had no marriage; that they were playing their roles to perfection. Only Mike had known some of the truth. He had always been there for her, but she chose not to burden him with it. They were all friends. The rift it would have caused between them would have been too traumatic. Besides, it’d been too shameful—too embarrassing—to even bring up.