by Susan Wilson
“I really can’t.” She wasn’t going to let him make this a more intimate evening.
“Well, you certainly can’t walk home in those shoes.”
“I’m fine.”
“Kiley, come on, just hang on a little while, then I’ll take you home.”
It was a reasonable suggestion, and the truth was, her feet were already sore. “Okay. But not for long.”
After a few items were auctioned off and the golf weekend seemed no closer than it had been, Kiley excused herself. “I’m going to the head.” She edged out of the crowded room into the quiet hallway.
The ladies’ room was empty, the scarred wooden stall doors exactly the same as she remembered them, carved with initials she recognized from her youth. “A.S. ‘hearts’ S.P. ’79” and “Gina loves Roy Truluv 4-evr ’81.” The place still smelled damp, like a bilge. All the money that belonged to this place, and they couldn’t improve the lavatories? The only improvement was the condom machine bolted next to the tampon dispenser. Kids were so much smarter now—which made her think of Will. She knew how intense last nights could be, and she fervently hoped that he and Catherine were being smart. She shook off the unwelcome thought as she shook her hands under the weak dryer.
She lingered in the ladies’ room, putting on new lipstick and fussing a little with her hair, loose and swinging on her bare shoulders. She should have brought a wrap, but didn’t have one. The July night was warm, but Kiley knew that the breeze would begin to dampen and cool as the evening went on. There was weather predicted for tomorrow—another good reason to have everything ready to go. If it started to rain, they’d be trying to jam the little car full instead of working it through like a puzzle. At least she hadn’t decided to bring home any furniture, and she’d put all the artwork back on the walls. The imaginary lighthouse would stay.
Kiley could hear the auctioneer’s voice wheedling another five bucks out of the audience. Maybe she should have donated some of the stuff to sell here tonight. The lighthouse picture might have raised a couple of dollars, and the seaglass-filled lamp.
According to the program, they were getting close to the golf weekend. Almost time to put an end to this troubling evening. She folded the program neatly and stuck it in her purse, then pulled open the heavy door.
“Kiley.”
Conor MacKenzie was coming down the hall. She smiled in greeting, then noticed that Conor was not.
“Do you know what your son did tonight?” Conor drew close, putting himself between her and the ladies’ room door.
A familiar shot of maternal dread tensed Kiley for battle. “What?”
“He showed up at my parents’ house. Did you put him up to that?”
“No. Certainly not. In fact, I told him he shouldn’t…”
Conor cut her off. “One of two things should have happened. One, you told us about him from the beginning, or two, you never brought him here. What were you thinking?” Conor’s blue eyes, no longer similar to Mack’s, were dark with anger.
“I’m thinking that it’s really none of your business. It never was, and it never will be.”
“It most certainly is, now that your kid has foisted himself on my mother. If we’re lucky, she’ll just pretend he’s her grandson; if we’re not, she’ll go back into a depression. I hold you responsible.”
“He’s eighteen years old. He can do what he wants.” Kiley was furious. Even though Conor MacKenzie had no right to upbraid her, Will had no right to inflict himself on the MacKenzies. It wasn’t bad enough he’d disobeyed her; if Conor’s anger was any indication, he’d opened up the wounds she’d hoped had healed over. “Look, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do to change it. What’s done is done.”
“Is that how you felt about Mack’s dying over love of you?” Conor was very close to her, making her step back against the wall. She could smell the metallic odor of gin and fruit on his breath.
The emergency exit door to the back drive opened, and through it walked Grainger Egan.
Conor moved away from Kiley. “Egan.”
Grainger stood a moment, assessing the scene. “Conor.” His voice was a warning.
Kiley pushed away from the wall, toward Grainger.
Conor squared himself. “What do you know about her kid?”
“Will? Everything you do, I suppose.”
“Do you think he’s yours, or Mack’s?”
“I think it doesn’t matter.”
“I think it matters very much.” He looked at Kiley. “Keep him the fuck away from my parents.” Conor walked back into the crowd.
Kiley remained where she was, aware of Grainger, aware of the distance between them.
Then Grainger came to her, gently resting one hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. Except I’ve probably lost my job reference.”
Grainger lifted his hand from her shoulder to stroke her hair, as if to calm her racing heart.
How handsome he was. Clean-shaven for the first time since she’d seen him again, his shaggy hair now expertly trimmed, Grainger stood tall, straight-backed and lean, in a well-fitted dinner jacket. His gray-blue eyes studied her as if he was no longer looking at her through the stained glass of memory, but through the clear glass of the present. They were no longer the teenagers they had been; they were adults, matured by their experiences, independent and unrelated to the overwrought beings of their youth. For the first time, Grainger and Kiley looked at each other purely as man and woman.
“I didn’t know you would be here,” they said simultaneously, then smiled and laughed softly.
“I suppose we should link little fingers and say, ‘Jinx, you owe me a Coke,’ like we used to.”
They stood in the narrow hallway, the sounds from the main hall clouding the silence between them so that it didn’t feel like silence.
“Kiley, you look beautiful.”
“So do you. I mean, handsome. Wonderful.”
“I clean up pretty good.” Grainger flashed her a smile. She saw the hidden dimples, rarely exposed until he was happy, dip into the tender flesh beside his lips.
They had been so careful to keep their new acquaintance within the bounds of his boat works, so diligent in keeping to the rules they had tacitly agreed on: the present, not history. Standing here, in their old place, it was too hard not to get pulled back into the past.
Kiley grasped at the first thing she could, to save them from plunging. “They’ve already gotten more than halfway through the auction. I hope you weren’t planning on bidding on something at the beginning.”
“No. I only came because I donated an afternoon’s charter on my big boat and they gave me a ticket in thanks. I don’t usually come to these things.”
“Still?” It came out like an inside joke.
“I suppose. I’ve done work on most of their boats, and half the time some member comes up to me to see if he can wheedle me into hurrying up, or into giving him a deal. I don’t think this crowd really cares if I come to their fund-raisers or not; they just like to keep me happy so that I give them preference.”
“So why did you come?”
Grainger’s dimple showed again. “Just to show the flag, support the kids’ sailing program. What about you?”
Kiley felt a desire to reach out with one finger and press it into that small, hidden indentation. “I have no idea. Toby Reynolds strong-armed me. I think that I was in such shock at the offer he’d brought that I was speechless, and he took it as a yes.”
“Are you really selling it, Kiley? You’ve accepted the offer?”
“Yes.”
“But you could change your mind?” Grainger was close enough that she could smell his shaving cream—something vaguely limey, pleasant, not overpowering like cologne.
“It’s too late. I’ve signed.”
Grainger took Kiley’s elbow with a tentative touch, as if afraid she might pull away from him. “Can we go outside?”
She nodded and let
Grainger lead her out to the boardwalk.
The lights coming through the windows illuminated their path, bright enough to cast their shadows before them; alternate people, doppelgängers. Kiley paused to remove her shoes, Grainger still holding her elbow for balance.
“Are you cold?”
She must have shivered. “No. Well, maybe a little.” Not cold, but excited.
Grainger slid his jacket off, his white shirt glowing in the muted moonlight, and draped it around her shoulders. They walked in silence to the pier and went out to the very end, to lean against the pilings, facing each other in the growing darkness. They stood exactly where they had stood on the last night of their youth. As it was on that night, the water slapped at the thick, tarred pilings, and halyards clinked against aluminum masts, chiming the rising of the wind.
“Don’t sell the house.”
“I have to. My parents have made it clear it’s necessary to pay for Will’s college.”
“I’ll pay for his education.”
Kiley felt a lump rise in her throat. How easy it would be to say yes. And how impossible. “No. Thank you, but no. You can’t do that. I won’t let you.”
“Kiley, I have the resources. I don’t want to see you lose the house.”
“Grainger, it’s not your problem.” The lump in her throat grew heavier. What was he saying? “Why are you making such an offer? You have no obligation to him. To us.”
“Kiley, until three weeks ago, I had no idea of his existence. And, now, having begun to know him…” Grainger’s husky voice softened and his sentence drifted off. “I don’t have anyone else, Kiley. I want to treat him as Mack would have wanted.”
“How can you know what Mack would have wanted? How can either of us make that claim?” Kiley turned away from Grainger, away from the look on his face, half hope, half grief. She dropped the jacket on the damp boards of the pier and walked away from him. She couldn’t stand there another minute. Grainger’s adult face mirrored the face she’d run away from all those years ago, before she knew Mack would die, before she knew she carried a child. Angry, upset, grieving, jealous. It frightened her, drawing her into the emotions so long held away.
Suddenly Grainger’s hand was on her, yanking her around to face him. He gripped her arms in his hands, then rested his forehead on hers, as if trying to understand her thoughts through physical connection. Then he kissed her. Gently testing her to see if she would struggle. Kiley did not. Her mouth was as eager as his, and it was with an overpowering sense that they were on familiar territory that they renewed the acquaintance of their loving selves. Both knew it was time to put that night to rest; both trembled at the magnitude of the effort. If they didn’t put it to rest, their lives would continue on in their muted, tarnished fashion, without hope and without love. They needed to release each other.
For the first time ever, it was only Grainger and her. Just the two of them, re-igniting a stunted passion.
“I have never forgotten you. I have never had a day when I didn’t regret how I’d behaved.” He pressed his cold cheek against hers, his words spoken to the darkness beyond the shore.
“Grainger.” Kiley stroked his face, trying to reconcile this strong man’s face with the youthful cheek that once lay against her girl’s hand. “You have nothing to regret. I was the one who damaged everything.”
“We were children, behaving with the ignorance of children who don’t know that feelings and lives are fragile. We need to let ourselves heal.”
“I wish…”
“No wishing. No more looking backwards. Please don’t.” Grainger silenced her with his mouth on hers, his tongue inciting warm, moist feelings Kiley had rarely known before. “Promise me that you and I can get to know each other as adults? Rip up that offer; stay here. Give us back the time we’ve lost.”
Now it was her turn to silence him with kisses. She didn’t feel the damp night air until she shivered, unsure of its genesis, the breeze off the water, or Grainger’s penetrating kisses.
He was slow to touch her body, focusing on her face and lips, tongue and ears. Then his mouth grazed her neck, lingering with soft brushes at her throat. After a tortured wait, his hands found her breasts, thumbing her erect nipples straining against the thin fabric of her dress. She stood with her back against the piling, arched against him, feeling his desire against her own.
Loud voices coming out of the Yacht Club brought the moment to a halt as a group of people tumbled out the doors and onto the boardwalk.
“That’s Benny Altman, dragging a flock of half-in-the-bag sailors down to look at his new Soling. She’s right over there, so I think we’d better pull ourselves together.”
Even Grainger’s whisper in her ear sent a thrill down her spine. She snagged his hand, pressing it in her warm one. “Come home with me.” She was afraid to let too much time pass, to lose the momentum.
“What about Will?”
“He’s out with Catherine, and he won’t come home until the last nanosecond before his curfew.”
Grainger bent to retrieve his jacket, placing it over her shoulders again. He kissed the back of her neck, sending pleasant chills through her. “I’d like that very much.”
The crowd passed them, halloos of greeting as if seeing Grainger Egan with his arms around a woman at the end of a pier was the most natural sight in the world. Tomorrow, they both knew, the delayed reactions would get the gossip going. Kiley felt Grainger’s arm around her waist, holding her as if he would never, ever, let her go again.
Just as they reached the parking lot, Toby Reynolds hollered at them. “Hey, Kiley, I thought you’d disappeared or walked home. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Toby loped to where they stood beside Grainger’s truck. “Oh, hi, Grainger. Didn’t see you inside. The charter went for three fifty, not bad. Thanks for donating it. The winners will give you a call.” Toby seemed oblivious to Kiley and Grainger’s unusually close stance, or her wearing Grainger’s jacket like a cape. “So, Kiley, how about a nightcap?”
“Can you give me a raincheck? I’ve got a headache.” Kiley smiled at him, hoping that he’d just take the hint gracefully.
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Get in the car and I’ll take you home.”
“No, that’s okay. Grainger’s taking me.”
“Why do I feel like I’m in high school and I’ve just been dumped?”
She smiled. “Thanks for bringing me, Toby. Call me when you know about the closing.”
“Right, the closing.” Toby toed the gravel beneath his feet. “When do you leave?”
“Noonish.”
“I’ll come by around eight. To help you pack up the car.”
“You don’t have to.” Kiley linked her fingers wtih Grainger’s.
Toby shrugged again. His tie was undone and he looked as if he might have had one too many cocktails. But to his credit, he was a consummate salesman and knew when a deal was off. And his hoped-for deal with Kiley tonight was clearly off, beat out by another salesman. “Okay. Got it. Have a pleasant evening.” He looked at Grainger. “See you at the coffee shop.” Both niceties bore an edge, but not enough to turn Kiley off his handling the house sale. He knew when to cut his losses.
“Good night, Toby.” Grainger helped Kiley into his truck, neither of them saying a word until Kiley giggled.
“He’s right, he did get dumped. He’s not a bad guy. Just not the guy I want.”
Grainger scooped her hand off the bench. “And who is?” He kissed her knuckles.
“It has always been you.” Kiley pulled their clasped hands to her lips. “When you and I had that afternoon together, I realized that Mack could never fill my heart the way you did. And I thought that he would understand.”
Grainger pulled the truck into her driveway and turned off the ignition. They sat without moving for a moment, the weight of her confession still between them. How had they missed Mack’s devotion? Believing that they wouldn’t break anything, that everything could be fixed because
they were friends.
“I still miss him.” Grainger’s admission barely above a whisper.
Kiley wiped a tear from the edge of her eyelid with one fingertip. “I missed you both.”
“At least you had Will. At least you had something.”
“I know. There has never been a moment when I wasn’t glad of it. Sometimes I believed that he was the child of both of you. And some days I thought that by some accident of parthenogenesis, I had created him alone. That he was neither yours nor Mack’s, only mine. I didn’t want him to be one or the other’s. Where I once loved you and Mack equally, in the end I didn’t. I loved you more. Yet I loved Mack with all my heart, just in a different way. If I knew that Will was yours, or Mack’s, it would seem like my body had made a choice I was incapable of. It seemed more fair to keep him equally both.”
Grainger covered his eyes with his hand, but not before Kiley saw the relief glitter in them. “Do you suppose I’ll ever get over being jealous of a dead man?”
“You don’t have to be, Grainger. Never again.”
“I do if Will is his son. Did you know that Will asked me to take a DNA test?”
“No, but I’m not surprised. He’s lived his whole life without a clue as to who he is, and now he’s close. He just doesn’t understand that knowing won’t change things.”
“But it will. Not the loving part—I would love him as a son either way. What would change is the way Will views me. Right now, I’m the guy who might be his father. If he finds out otherwise, I’ll be the guy who slept with his mother.”
“Will you do it?”
“I told him if he still wants to know in December, we’ll do it. I told him I was worried that we’d both end up disappointed.”
“It might just be a temporary disappointment. You’d both get over it.”
“But the truth would always be there.”
They sat in silence, the crickets outside the truck the only sound.
“Let’s go inside, Grainger.”
“Do you know that in all the time I knew you, I’ve never been upstairs in this house?”
“I never thought about it, but that doesn’t surprise me. My mother has always been one for propriety. It doesn’t seem likely she’d have let me have boys upstairs, although I don’t remember even considering it. My room was always such a mess.”