Casey toyed with her pasta, nibbled at her veal, less interested in her dinner than in watching Danny. He ate left-handed with a grace that was too elegant to be anything but natural. He had the most beautiful hands she’d ever seen, their movements precise and exquisite, their gestures eloquent. He set down his fork. “You’re not eating,” he said.
She shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t really hungry.”
He picked up his fork, cut off a small bite of veal, and carried it to her mouth. Casey looked into those blue eyes, so intent, so solemn, and felt something turn over deep in the pit of her stomach. She opened her mouth and slowly took the veal between her lips. Chewed and swallowed, and he cut off a second piece and fed it to her.
Beneath the table, his knee touched hers, and a shock ran clear through her. Those blue eyes held hers, his intent clearly written in them. In response, she caught his wrist in her hand and guided the next bite of veal to her mouth. Without a word, he set down his fork and signaled for the check.
Moments later, they were back outside in the mild spring evening. On Hanover Street, they passed restaurant after restaurant, light spilling out through plate glass windows, loud talk and hearty laughter mixed with the clink of glass and cutlery floating out the open doors. For Casey, it was all a blur; in the three blocks to her apartment, her feet didn’t touch the ground even once.
They didn’t bother with the lights. Off came the tweed jacket, the silk blouse, their clothes forming a pool of expensive fabric on the floor beside her bed. It didn’t matter that they had differences, or that they hadn’t talked them out. It didn’t matter that neither of them knew what would come after tonight. None of those things made one iota of difference. None of them ever really had.
This was what mattered, this touching of flesh against flesh, this fierce giving and taking, this exquisite merging that brought them together, again and again and again. Everything else had always been secondary. In the darkness, they found each other and melded with a fluid oneness that left them breathless. With a soft cry of gladness, she locked her legs around his hips, drawing him deeper into her.
And they took each other home.
***
“It never grows old.”
His head was resting on her belly, her fingers wandering aimlessly through the silk of his hair. “What?” she said, half asleep. “What never grows old?”
“The way I feel about you.”
In the moonlight, her fingers found his face. “Oh, Danny,” she said in despair. “Why are we so terrible at being married?”
“You’re not terrible at it. I am.”
“It would be so easy, if only I didn’t love you so much.”
He was silent for a long time. “I’ve changed,” he said at last. “I went off the deep end for a while. But I got myself straightened out. I got help. And there’s so much I have to tell you.”
Quietly, she said, “Where do we go from here?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
She sat up and wrapped the blanket around her. “I don’t think you have any idea,” she said, “what it was like for me, living with you. You swallowed me up, Danny. You ate me alive.”
“If you were so unhappy,” he said, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t unhappy. That’s the point. I wasn’t anything. I had no identity except as your wife. I look back at that person, and I realize I don’t much like her. In the last year, I’ve begun to discover me. And I’m not about to give up me. Not even for you.”
“I see,” he said.
“I’m not blaming you,” she said. “You were honest with me from the start. I guess I just wasn’t listening closely enough. Or maybe I was too dazzled to hear. For twelve years, we lived on your terms. We got caught up in it and it just snowballed. But I can’t live life on those terms any more.”
“Do you want a divorce?”
“I don’t think you ever understood just how much I loved you. From the first time I saw you walk across my kitchen floor, you were the whole world to me. The only thing that mattered. No,” she said, “I don’t want a divorce.”
“What do you want?” he said.
“I want to go back. Back to the way it was in the early days. But we can’t do that.”
He cleared his throat. “What if we tried living on your terms?”
“Do you really think it would work?”
“Why don’t you tell me what your terms are. Then I’ll answer your question.”
She studied the wall absently. “We stopped talking, Danny. That was our biggest mistake. My biggest mistake, because I let you withdraw from me. I tried to give you the space I thought you needed. It was the wrong thing to do.”
“When Katie died,” he said, “I went to pieces. I couldn’t handle it. She was the only pure, sweet thing in my entire life, and I couldn’t bear to lose her.”
“I was furious with you for such a long time.”
“And I was afraid I’d driven you away forever.” He paused. “Is it too late to ask you to give me another chance?”
She considered it. “I’ll give it another try,” she said, “but only if you’ll agree to marriage counseling. I don’t think we’ll make it without help. And I won’t live in California. You’ll have to move back to the East Coast.”
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
“I won’t climb back on the merry-go-round, Danny. I got too dizzy.”
“We could look for a house in the country,” he said, “near your father.”
“There’ll be no more tries,” she warned him. “I can’t keep letting you break my heart. I’m getting too old for it. If we blow this one, Danny, it’ll be for good.”
“I’ve grown up,” he said. He looped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her tight. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
***
He used the shower first in the morning. While Casey showered, he made a cup of instant coffee, lit a cigarette, and carried them into her workroom to take a look at what she’d been doing. The rampant disorder told him she was in the middle of a major project. Meticulously neat in every other area of her life, it was only in her work that Casey allowed creative chaos to reign. Danny sat down in the middle of the mess and drew a sheet of manuscript paper across the table top. Sipping his coffee, he studied it. The handwriting was Casey’s, but it didn’t take him long to recognize the work as Rob’s. Subtle nuances identified it as his: brief phrasings and key changes, the use of certain diminished or augmented chords. He heard her footsteps in the doorway. “You didn’t tell me you and Rob were working together,” he said.
“You didn’t ask.”
He turned to look at her, and did a double-take. His wife was wearing Nike running shoes, blue silk athletic shorts, and a matching warm-up jacket. Headphones dangled around her neck, the other end plugged into a Walkman clipped to her waist. While he stared in stupefaction, she bent at the waist and did half a dozen toe touches. “What the hell are you doing?” he said.
“Running. I’m up to six miles a day.”
“Running?” He tried to comprehend, but it was too incredible. Imagining her threading her way through downtown Boston’s rush hour traffic, he said in alarm, “Where the devil do you jog around here?”
“The Esplanade. Up one side of the river to the Harvard Bridge, then back down the other side. Want to join me?”
The very idea gave him indigestion. “Thanks,” he said dryly, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”
“That’s too bad. It’s more fun with a partner. Rob runs with me whenever he’s in town.”
The picture of Rob MacKenzie’s lanky shanks in running shorts only made his indigestion worse. Casey bent and brushed her lips across his. “I’ll see you in an hour,” she said, and adjusted her headphones. “I’ll bring you a napoleon from Mike’s.” And she was gone, leaving him to wonder if he’d awakened in the twilight zone.
He was still knee-deep in her work forty-five minutes later
when footsteps clattered up the stairs and a key turned in the lock. “You’re back early,” he said, shoving aside his cold coffee. “Did you remember my napoleon?”
Silence. Then footsteps approached the doorway and a voice that was definitely not his wife’s said, “Danny?”
He spun the swivel chair in stunned amazement. “Wiz?” he said.
“Hot damn,” Rob said, and they greeted each other with grins and handshakes and a brief, eloquent hug. “You’re the last person I expected to see here.”
“That makes two of us,” he said. “Come on out to the kitchen. I’ll throw together a pot of coffee.”
He put the kettle on to heat and began opening cupboard doors in search of coffee cups. “Left side,” Rob said, “over the stove.”
He found the cups just where Rob had said they’d be. Dryly, he said, “You’ve obviously spent some time here.”
Rob was standing at the kitchen window, looking out. “Yeah,” he said without turning. “I guess I have.”
Danny studied his back. There was something odd about the set of his shoulders. But before the thought could take concrete form, Rob turned away from the window. “Does this mean you and Casey are back together?” he said.
The kettle whistled, and Danny turned off the stove. “It looks that way,” he said.
Rob opened the refrigerator. From behind the door, he said, “Just don’t hurt her, Dan.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Rob took out a quart of milk and closed the refrigerator door. “If you hurt her again,” he said, “I’ll rip your throat out.”
“Christ,” he said, “some things never change, do they? You’re still on her side.”
“Wrong. I’m not taking sides.” Rob uncapped the milk bottle and poured milk into his coffee. “Damn it, Danny, I love you like a brother. But it kills me to see what you do to her. The woman thinks you’re God.” He recapped the bottle and looked Danny square in the eye. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are? If any woman ever looked at me the way Casey looks at you, I’d die a happy man.”
“I love her,” he said, hating the defensiveness he heard in his own voice. “You know that.”
“Yeah, Dan, I think you really do. Just be careful with her, okay? I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces again. Every time it happens, the cracks get a little bigger and a little harder to glue back together.”
Before he could respond, the hall door opened and Casey breathlessly called from the foyer. “Danny? I’m home.”
He cleared his throat. “In the kitchen,” he said.
“Mike’s was out of napoleons,” she bubbled, “so I brought you a couple of creme puffs instead. I’m going in to take another shower. I’m all—” She stepped into the kitchen, saw Rob, and stopped. “Oh,” she said in an odd little voice. “You’re back.”
Eyes averted, Rob spooned sugar into his coffee. “I flew in about six last night,” he said, stirring. He licked the spoon and dropped it in the sink. “I spent the night with my folks.”
Danny looked curiously from one to the other, wondering just what the hell was going on here. Casey set the bakery bag down on the table and unclipped her Walkman. To Rob she said briskly, “Did you get your business taken care of?”
Still not looking at her, Rob took a sip of coffee. “Yeah,” he said.
“Then you’re ready to get back to work?”
Rob turned, cup in hand, and leaned his lanky frame against the counter. “That’s why I’m here,” he said crisply.
The tension in the room was thicker than smoke in a pool hall. There may have been three people present, but only two of them were speaking the same language, and Danny was odd man out. He narrowed his eyes, looked at them more closely. He and Casey had been separated for nearly a year. Could it be possible that during the course of those months, she’d had something going with Rob?
The notion was absurd. Casey and Rob had a dogged and complex relationship, one he hadn’t always understood, but as far as Danny could tell, there was nothing remotely sexual about it. Yet the possibility, once implanted in his brain, refused to go away. It explained so many things. Like why Rob had read him the riot act. Why he’d known exactly what was where in the kitchen cabinets. Why he’d let himself into Casey’s apartment with his own key.
He felt as if he’d been kicked hard in the stomach. His lungs closed up, refused to function, and suddenly his only desire was for fresh air. “I have to go,” he said abruptly. “To check out of the hotel. Pick up my clothes.”
They both looked at him oddly. “You’re leaving?” Casey said.
“I’ll be back in an hour.”
She followed him to the door. Caught him by the arm. “Danny?” she said. “Are you all right?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.” He bent and brushed his lips across hers. Hesitated before pulling her into his arms and kissing her with desperate intensity. “I love you,” he whispered. “Christ, I love you so much.” And left her standing there in the hall, gaping after him in stunned amazement.
He stewed as he drove across town and checked out of the hotel he’d never even slept in. How the hell was he going to work this out? He had to be back in Los Angeles tomorrow. He was so tired of obligations. Maybe it was time to chuck it all. Grab the money and run. Take Casey and move to Anchorage. They could live in an igloo and keep each other warm through the long, cold winter nights.
When he returned, he found Casey alone in the kitchen, elbow-deep in soapsuds. Whenever she didn’t know what to do with herself, the woman washed dishes. “Where’s Rob?” he said grimly.
She turned in surprise at his tone of voice. “He went back to his mother’s,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I need to talk to you, and I only have a few minutes. I have to fly back to California. I’d rather stay here with you, but I have commitments I can’t back out of.”
She dried her hands on a kitchen towel and circled her arms around his waist. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”
He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ll be back on Friday,” he said. “I thought we could drive up to Maine and go house hunting.”
“I’ll call Dad and tell him we’re coming.”
He studied her face. Cleared his throat. “Can I ask you a question without blowing the roof off the place?”
“Of course.” She looked puzzled. “What is it?”
He took a deep breath. “Are you and Rob having an affair?”
“Are we what?” The look of astonishment on her face was genuine. “Where did you get an idea like that?”
“The way he wasn’t looking at you this morning. What the two of you said. Mostly what you didn’t say.” He hesitated, then added grimly, “What he said to me before you got here.”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. “Rob and I are not having an affair,” she said. “You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with.”
It wasn’t quite the answer he’d been seeking. Not you’re the only man I’ve ever loved, but you’re the only man I’ve ever slept with. Not all affairs involved the body. Some only involved the heart. “What on earth did he say to you?” she asked.
“He read me the riot act. Told me how lucky I was to have you and threatened to rip out my throat if I screwed up.”
She smiled ruefully. “He does have a tendency to be overprotective, doesn’t he?”
He scowled. “Overprotective, my ass. The man’s in love with you.”
She stepped away from him and returned to her sinkful of dishes. “Bullfeathers,” she said. “You’re having pipe dreams. Rob is my dearest friend. He and I have already covered this ground. We both know exactly where we stand, and we’re both comfortable with our relationship, just the way it is. You’re being paranoid.”
Something hard and unpleasant settled into the pit of his stomach. “I don’t suppose you’d like to clarify what already covered this ground means?”
She rin
sed a plate and wedged it neatly into the plastic drainer on the sideboard. “That’s between Rob and me,” she said, “and it’s none of your business.”
He gaped at her in disbelief. “None of my business?” he repeated. “I’m your husband, for Christ’s sake!”
“Yes, you are my husband,” she said with maddening calm. “And he’s my friend. He doesn’t ask for intimate details of my relationship with you. I’d appreciate you according us the same respect.”
chapter twenty-five
Casey wandered through the empty rooms of the deserted farmhouse, trying to get the feel of the place. There was something about it, something she couldn’t put her finger on, that she found immensely appealing.
“Lathes and plaster,” Helen Goldman, the real estate agent, was saying. “You don’t see much of that any more.”
Casey entered the kitchen. It was a bright room on the north side of the house, a room where she immediately felt at home. She could picture a jungle of green plants growing in the windows.
Mrs. Goldman’s voice followed her. “The former owner closed off these fireplaces for practical reasons, but they could be reopened easily.”
She could hear the low murmur of voices from the cellar, but Danny and Jesse were too far away for her to hear what they were saying. She opened a cupboard door, and the hinge squeaked.
Helen Goldman followed her into the kitchen. Briskly, she said, “You have to realize that the place has been empty for some time. Try to picture it without the cobwebs and the rodent droppings.” She paused. “I can give you the name of a good exterminator.”
Casey heard the heavy tread of footsteps on the cellar stairs, then Danny came into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his jeans. “The furnace is fairly new,” he said, “and the foundation seems to be sound.”
Coming Home (Jackson Falls Series) Page 30