by Dawn Atkins
“Need a break?” He held out his water jug.
She drank thirstily, heedless of the rivulets escaping her mouth to spill down her pretty throat. He wanted to kiss her there, taste the water on her sweet skin.
She handed him the jug, and he held out one of the peaches. “Too busy. A bunch of orders came in yesterday.”
“Take a break with me,” he said. “Come see what you’ve set in motion.” He gestured outdoors.
She smiled her thousand-watt smile. “All right, I guess.” Clay dust covered her hair and he reached to brush it away.
“Careful,” she murmured, stepping back, darting glances in all directions to be certain no one had noticed his move. They’d kept their affair secret from everyone so far.
“There’s dust in your hair.”
She shook her head, then roughed her curls with both hands, sending her scent his way.
“I want to touch you so bad right now.” He could not get enough of her. When she wasn’t in his arms, she was in his head.
She shut her eyes, trembling a little at his words. “I know,” she whispered. “Tonight after supper.”
“Dammit, this computer’s busted!” Aurora yelled from the office area, which they’d protected from dust with heavy plastic sheets since the computer had arrived.
“It’s not broken,” Christine called to her. “Read the instructions I wrote down about the database program.”
Aurora grumbled, then said, “There. I fixed it.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “She acts like the Web site and the computer are a pain, but she spends hours glued to the screen. Yesterday, she told me all about Google searches.”
He smiled at the tenderness in her voice. “You’re not as irritated as you’re trying to sound.”
“That’s only because she’s occupied back there, not railing about how landscaping violates the spirit of Harmony House. I promised she could approve every hedge and paint chip, but I didn’t think she’d take me up on it.”
“Better than being an armchair quarterback after the fact.”
“Oh, she’ll do that, too, just you wait.”
“But you’re smiling, Christine. Not gritting your teeth.”
“I am?” She paused. “Maybe I’m getting used to her.” She took a bite of the peach Marcus held out to her. Juice dribbled down her chin. She wiped it with the heel of her hand.
“You missed a little,” he said, running his thumb across her lower lip.
“Oh, don’t,” she breathed, stepping away. “You’ll make me faint dead away.”
He led her out to the yard and they sat on the top rail of the fence. Around them they could hear the chuff of shovels and friendly chatter, punctuated by bursts of laughter.
“This is going great, huh?” She looked out at all the work being done. “We’re going to paint the kitchen and dining room and furnish more sleeping rooms. I’ve got ads in some travel magazines and bookings are up already.”
“Sounds very promising.”
“It is, I think.”
“And you sound happy.”
“I’m enjoying this a lot. It’s like giving the place a fresh start…with the Internet.” She grinned.
“You’re making the changes you joked about needing if you were going to stay here. Are you thinking about that?”
“Thinking about it? Not really. I mean…I’ll miss it, I know….” She seemed to suddenly realize something and looked directly at him. “It will be hard to leave.” She meant hard to leave him.
“It will be,” he said, letting that fact sink in.
“But there’s no point planning the end when we’re in the middle, right?” She seemed to force herself to brighten.
“No,” he said, wishing he were better at dealing with loss.
“Looks like David’s talking to Delia again,” Christine said, nodding in that direction. “I’m going to hire her to take bookings and market us with travel agencies.” She paused. “You think that’s okay? She’s a year older than him.”
“He’s making friends. That’s a good thing.”
“I just hate to see him laying his heart on the chopping block for another girl’s ax. I want to grab her by the shoulders and say, please don’t hurt him.”
“You’re assuming the worst.”
“The worst happens. Better to be prepared.” She sighed. “He’s braver than I am, I guess. More hopeful.”
“Hey, now, where’s your excessive optimism?”
“When it comes to love, I’m a hard-bitten realist, baby.”
Don’t give up hope, he wanted to say. Talk about excessive optimism.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THAT EVENING, CHRISTINE was finishing the whipped cream while Aurora took out plates for the strawberry shortcake dessert they would be serving the residents and high school workers who’d been invited to supper.
After the long day of scraping, painting and planting, the dinner had been a delight, full of talk and laughter and great food, with Aurora so cheerful she’d entertained everyone with commune stories from the old days.
“Assembly line or plate-by-plate?” Aurora asked her now.
“You’re asking me?” Aurora never asked her opinion. “Uh, assembly line, I think, would be easiest.”
“That could work, I guess.” Aurora clearly preferred plate-by-plate, but she was being kind for some reason. “I’ll do the cake, you do the strawberries, then we can start at both ends slapping on the whipped cream. How’s that?”
“Sounds great.” She was touched by her mother’s gesture.
Aurora began laying the plates in rows on the counter.
“Supper was nice, huh?” Christine said.
“Except for the eggplant. It wasn’t seasoned right.”
She smiled. Marcus had added garlic to Aurora’s recipe and it had tasted wonderful, but Aurora would always be Aurora, even when she was making an effort to be kind.
“I meant the way everyone was enjoying each other after working together so hard. It reminds me of the good times here.”
“I didn’t know you had any.” Christine heard the sadness beneath her mother’s stab.
“I was a kid. Kids complain. The point is I see why you and Bogie stuck it out all these years. There are good things here.”
“So why are you painting and planting over it all?” she said, but she was smiling, and her eyes were lit with pleasure.
Feeling a surge of affection, Christine almost hugged her, except Aurora would go stiff and the moment would get awkward. Then a better thought hit her. “What about a party?”
“A party?” Her mother’s forehead creased. “Celebrating what?”
“You and Bogie getting better, finishing the facelift we’re giving Harmony House. We’ll do it on the Fourth of July. How’s that? We could make it an open house. Invite people from town.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of trouble to go to,” she said, but she was clearly pleased.
Together they carried the cream-topped strawberries to the dining room to cheers and applause. Christine told everyone about the party, her heart so full she couldn’t stop grinning. After supper, David joined Christine to do the dishes.
Delia helped David clear, then left the kitchen. “She seems nice,” Christine said.
David only shrugged.
“She designed some of the doors, didn’t she?”
“Mom.” He stopped washing and turned to her.
“Okay, none of my business. Sorry.” They worked in silence until she asked, “How are things going for you lately?” David rarely talked to her and continued to be sullen and moody.
“Fine.”
“Is that all you can say?” She sighed. He seemed so far away. Like he was on a raft and when she reached for him, the motion sent him sliding farther out to sea.
“I’m not playing Name Three Things, so don’t even try.” The rule used to be when she asked him about school he had to name three things that had happened or that he’d learned.
“You still talk with Marcus, right?” At least that.
“Mostly we play guitar.”
“And you sound good,” she said. “You’ve been practicing.” Another shrug.
She had a sudden idea. “Maybe you and Marcus should play at the open house.”
“Yeah?” He stopped washing and looked at her. She’d actually surprised him. “You mean like a gig? For pay?”
“Sure. For pay.” Why not?
“Okay. Yeah. That would be cool.”
“We’ll be having a lot more guests in the future. Maybe we could have a happy-hour thing on the weekends where you and Marcus could perform. Or you could solo.”
“And you’d pay me?”
“You’ll probably get tips, too.”
“Yeah. I’ll do it. I’ll tell Marcus. Thanks.” He nodded his head in that ostrich-bob way he had.
“I’m glad, then.” I love you. She was about to say it when David frowned at her.
“Don’t get all weird. Here.” He thrust the colander he’d been washing at her. “Rinse.”
AFTER TAKING AURORA to Preston for her checkup, Christine left her mother in the clay barn and went to talk to Bogie. She found him in the garden supervising two couples and their kids as they harvested cabbage. “Is this the right way, Mr. Bogie?” asked a little girl.
Bogie squatted and watched as she snapped off the leafy ball. “It’s perfect. You have a knack for this,” he said.
The girl beamed, spun and hurried to her mother three rows over, holding out her prize. “I have a knack, Mommy,” she called. “Mr. Bogie says I have a knack.”
“Put it in the basket,” the mother said. An older son, probably thirteen, pulled plants a few rows over. He was working on a report about intentional living and his parents spoke fondly of their year at a commune in Michigan.
Catching sight of Christine, Bogie approached the fence. “What did the doctor say?” he asked.
“According to Aurora, clean bill of health. Though she wouldn’t let me go with her to the exam room. She insisted on driving home, too.”
“Now that’s good news, isn’t it?” Bogie said, beaming with relief. “You’re looking pretty healthy, too, these days.”
“Thank you.”
“I remember those tired eyes of yours when you came. Now they’re just shining bright.”
She smiled at him, warmed by his affection.
“So that settles it. We’ll be having those fireworks for the party. I don’t care what Aurora says. In honor of you both.”
“That’s sweet of you, Bogie.”
“It’s not sweet. It’s right.” He paused. “What do you say we enlarge the greenhouse this fall, make the aisles wider?”
“If that’s what you’d like to do…” Her stomach tightened. Already, Aurora was talking about things they would do “this fall” or “next winter,” and now Bogie was at it, too.
“Mr. Bogie? Check me, please?” the little girl called.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” Christine said, easing away. She didn’t want to disappoint Bogie, but she had to return to Phoenix. Things were getting…complicated.
She headed for the house. A baa made her pat Ruby, her favorite goat. In the courtyard, she gently suggested two little boys ought not to chase the chickens or they wouldn’t have nice eggs in their omelets.
After supper that night, once she was sure that David was in town with friends, Christine headed to Marcus’s room, dying to be in his arms. It was ridiculous how she longed for these private hours with him. They were careful about the timing so they never risked David finding out. Marcus’s room’s location helped. It was near the far stairs, easy to slip up and down without being seen, and far from the owners’ quarters, where David stayed.
More than once she’d thought about tapering off, so that it would be easier when they parted ways in six weeks, but she couldn’t seem to even bring up the idea.
She knocked at his door, her heart in her throat, and Marcus welcomed her into his arms, his hair damp from the shower, smelling clean and sweet, and she was so glad to be with him again. She noticed soft music playing and saw a boom box on the bookshelf.
When Marcus released her, she noticed he’d cleared the papers from his desk. One of the commune’s beeswax candles glowed beside a jar of bright flowers and a bowl of fresh blackberries. Next to that was a bottle of red wine and two ceramic goblets.
“These are the ones I made,” she said, picking one up, admiring the even shape and graceful stem.
“Why do you think I chose them?”
“This is so lovely, Marcus.” She indicated the table, the music, the goblet in her hand.
“I’m glad you like it. I wish we could risk going out to Sammy’s or Toad Tavern, but here we’re close to a bed, and that’s crucial.” He held her gaze, hunger in his eyes. “Take off your clothes. I’m thinking dessert, then blackberries.”
Christine went weak in the knees. How she wanted this man.
Afterward, Christine rolled onto her side to look down at Marcus. “That was so great. I feel like we invented it.”
“Sex, you mean?” Marcus gave a low chuckle, and ran his finger along her cheek. “We are pretty good together.”
“Good? Are you kidding. We’re amazing.” They were, too. She’d never felt this physically delighted and satisfied and comfortable. Of course, that made her wonder about Marcus, so she had to ask.
“How were you with Elizabeth? Physically, I mean?”
“I’m not sure how useful that would be to discuss.”
“Screw useful. Just tell me. Or, okay, I’ll go first. Skip was good. He had the moves and all, though it kind of felt like a performance a lot. But it was never like it is with you, the way you hold me with your eyes the entire time, completely with me, together, you know? Totally in tune.”
“How could I not be?” he breathed, kissing her forehead. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”
She sighed. “That’s what I mean. You look at me that way and you say shit like that. I just…I don’t know…I feel so lucky.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I mean, you’re perfect.”
“Perfect?” He frowned. “I’m hardly perfect. We both know that. We’re in a unique situation here, with a limit on our time together, so that intensifies our reactions.”
“Maybe.” She knew emotions ran high when sex was new. This felt different, but she’d tricked herself in the past, seeing more than was there. She’d certainly done that with Skip.
“You’d get bored soon enough, Christine. Trust me. I get distant and preoccupied. I disengage. Just ask Elizabeth.”
“You think it was all your fault, right? That you let her down emotionally. Did you ever think that maybe she let you down?”
“Christine, I don’t think that’s—”
“I’m no marriage expert, of course. I mean with Skip, I think I fell in love with the idea of him. But you haven’t been distant at all with me or with David. You’ve been completely here, absolutely present.”
“I want to be. I want to be exactly what you need. But wanting is not being, so let’s not get carried away.”
He was probably right. Maybe she’d get bored with him and all his quiet restraint. Certainly, she would be too much for him. Too much emotion, too much intensity. Simply too much. Still, she couldn’t help wanting them both to be wrong.
CHRISTINE SMILED AT THE crowd that filled the Harmony House parlor listening to David and Marcus perform. A surprising number of New Mirage residents were here, including the mayor and Susan, and lots of media—travel writers from national and regional magazines and USA Today, style reporters from Phoenix and Tucson, even some Arizona TV crews.
Up by the fireplace, David and Marcus sat on tall stools, lit by clusters of candles on stands. Christine had insisted they wear the Harmony House tie-dyed T-shirts she’d had printed up to be sold at the front desk.
David was nervous, she could tell, and her heart went out to him. She’d taken
Marcus’s advice and given him space, stopped pushing him to talk to her, though it was against her instincts. Maybe Marcus knew best.
Marcus noticed her watching them and winked, which sent a sexual charge through her. She couldn’t wait for after the party when they would rehash what happened and make love.
She leaned on him more and more, sinking into his steadiness, the ready comfort of his arms. This was risky, she knew. She had to stay strong and independent, take care of herself and her son, not get lazy. Because things went wrong, people failed you. That’s just how it went. And afterward it took a while to pull up your big-girl panties and move on.
But here she was, hooked on Marcus. When she left and he went back to L.A., she’d end up with a huge hole in her heart for sure. So much for keeping it simple.
They began with Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” Marcus’s rich baritone beneath David’s tentative tenor, supporting, not overshadowing. David looked so handsome and grown up her heart ached with tenderness and pride.
When the song was over, everyone clapped and the Barlow twins whistled their approval. She’d hired them and some of their friends to pass appetizers and clean up.
When they stopped for a short break, Christine went up to David. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. She was dying to hug him, but she knew that would embarrass him. Already, he was glancing side to side to make sure no one saw him with her. “I’ll disappear, no worries,” she said, stepping back.
“Thanks for the gig,” he blurted, giving her a shot of his old sunny smile.
“You’re very welcome,” she said, her heart full. She’d been right to bring David here, she thought, hoping she wasn’t being excessively optimistic again.
On her way to the kitchen to check on the appetizers she ran into Aurora. “I swear to God if I hear ‘Michael, Row the Boat Ashore’ one more time I’ll explode,” she said.
Christine laughed. “Come on. You can’t even pretend not to love the way they sound.”
“David’s not bad,” Aurora admitted. “He seems pretty settled in around here. Not so moody and lazy.”
She noticed Marcus smiling at her from across the room, so she nodded in his direction.