The cabin was hand built by her great-grandfather, and regardless of his best efforts, it leaked air like a sieve.
He knew the obvious solution and, although he doubted she was thinking of it right now, she was a native girl and she knew it as well.
Whether or not he could get her to participate was another thing entirely, not that he would blame her if she decided to condemn him, especially to a long, slow, cold death.
It would be about what he deserved after the way he had treated her.
Somewhere to the south of the cabin there was a woodpile though not much of one, and one that was covered by who knew how many feet of snow by now. He supposed he could tie a rope to himself and try to go out to find it, but he thought that was probably going to be a colossal waste of time. It was frozen, old, dry, mostly rotted wood anyway. Since they'd stopped using the woodstove, it hadn't been maintained and new cords of wood hadn't been purchased.
Rory began to walk slowly toward her, noticing that she was still shaking visibly. Stopping about ten feet away from her, he kept his flashlight pointed on the floor. He took another few steps until he was within reach but not touching her to squat down in front of her. That was when he realized just how terrified she looked.
It just about killed him to have inspired that amount of fear in her.
When he spoke, he made sure his tone was low and soft and soothing.
"Andi, honey, I want you to know how sorry I am about—" he paused, grimacing, "what I did. I'll never be able to forgive myself, really."
She didn't say anything, didn't even look at him.
"I forced myself on you, and I-I know there's nothing I can do to make up for that. You can and should file charges against me when we get out of here."
That got her attention. She looked surprised and horrified at his suggestion, but he plowed ahead.
"I know that you've always been—" Not the best with words, he searched for a short second for the right ones to use. "Anxious and skittish.
Afraid around me, and now you have even more reason to be that way."
Her eyebrows rose and she looked alarmed, but he wasn't looking at her.
"Now that the power is out, we have a consideration that's going to put us in close proximity to each other—"
"I'm not afraid of you. I never have been."
He could barely hear what she'd said, and when he did, he could
hardly believe his ears. But, though she was trembling, her voice had been clear and there was the ring of truth to it.
"It's okay, Andi. I'm sorry I made you feel that way in the first place, and even more sorry now, believe me—"
Andrea raised her eyes to his. "I mean it. I'm not afraid of you. I never have been. I'm not shaking now because of you. I'm terrified because…"
She paused because it wasn't something she was very proud of. She was a grown adult, an accomplished woman yet one who retained such an inherently childish fear.
"Because?" he prompted, wondering to himself if she was hesitating so that she had time to make something up.
Andi sighed, wrapping her own arms more tightly around herself.
"Because I'm afraid of the dark. And when the lights went off, I had a very hard time not screaming bloody murder, frankly."
"You're… you're afraid of the dark? That's what had you moaning like that? What has you shaking the entire bed beneath you even now, even though the lamps are on?"
"Yes."
It was kind of cute, he thought, although he knew she wouldn't want him to think of it that way, and he did his best to try to comfort her about it.
"Well, we have other lamps. Would you like one on the nightstand?"
"Yes, please," she answered formally, her words stunted.
One appeared there momentarily, turned further up than the others, as they had a good, yet limited, supply of lamp oil. "There you go. And how about a flashlight of your own? Liz always bugged me and I always meant to get the ones that come on as soon as the lights go out, but it was never that much of a problem for us. I didn't know that you had that fear or I would have tried to help you more with it. I thought it was, you know, me." He looked and sounded so sheepish and guilty, standing there in front of her.
He'd handed her the flashlight so tentatively, making scrupulously sure that even their fingertips didn't touch in the exchange.
"I know."
And it was him, partly, but it seemed easier, and seemed kinder to him, to let him think that it was the dark that had her shaking in reaction.
About forty percent of that was right. The other sixty percent was because of what he, what they, had done, and all the repercussions she felt within herself because of it.
She'd never expected anything like that to happen. As much as she'd fantasized about him, and she had, she'd never, ever expected that she'd feel him inside her.
Ever.
And now she had; only it was wrong. Every bit of it, every amazing second of it, all of those things that his possession of her had called to the forefront from where they had been hiding in the shadows of her life, since she'd met him, were wrong, at their core.
In his drunken condition, he had thought that he was making love to his dead wife.
That trumped pretty much anything else, as far as she was concerned.
The only reason he hadn't stopped was because he couldn't. It had only been a couple of strokes past the point that he realized who she was.
She'd gotten to that point herself occasionally, where it was going to happen regardless of whether or not she wanted to stop it.
She didn't blame him.
Not in the least.
She blamed herself.
When he'd returned from fetching her the lights, he'd resumed his previous position in front of her, two or three feet way, hunkered down, making himself smaller and thus, he hoped, less threatening to her.
"I'm glad to know that you're not frightened of me. You've always been so… I don't know what the right word is. So removed from me. You've let me know with your actions and your manner around me that you don't want me to touch you even casually, and that's fine." He cleared his throat and said, "I've tried to respect that until… you know, tonight."
"I know."
Rory snuck a look at her, and saw that she was trembling much less, but that she was hugging herself harder. It was already getting cold in there.
Even he could feel it, and he was a polar bear, or so Liz always told him. It could and had been at certain points during their marriage, twenty-five below and he would still only sleep with a sheet over him, and a small fan blowing on him, with her huddled up against his broad back, or surrounded by his blast furnace self, wearing three pairs of woolen pajamas, a full length furry housecoat and whatever animals they owned at that point huddled around her and she would still be shivering.
So the cold wouldn't begin to bother him for some time.
Andi, however, was another matter entirely. There wasn't a spare ounce of insulation on her, and he knew from when she spent time visiting them that even in the summer, she was always cold. She was his main priority, and he figured he was going to get an argument from her about what he was going to suggest, but he had already decided it was the best course for them. He'd already begun steeling himself against what he expected to be her vociferous objections.
Rory opened his mouth to begin to explain what he intended for them to do and all of the sound reasons why, but that was when she moved, neatly preempting him.
With the darkness having been banished, and his surprisingly comforting proximity, Andi suddenly realized just how cold she was, and moved to get under the covers, being gingerly careful of her ankle while she did so.
Then she threw back the sheet and coverlet on the side nearest him.
"We should probably huddle for warmth, shouldn't we? To preserve our body heat?"
His mouth snapped shut. His first impulse was to want to say no, in deference to her. He couldn't figure that she would
want to be that close to him voluntarily after…
But that was exactly what he was going to suggest, and he truly thought it was the best thing for them to do in that situation, so he really couldn't.
Instead, he went to the linen cupboard in the small bathroom and brought out every blanket they owned. He gathered the lamps and placed them around the bed on safe, sturdy spots where they wouldn't be subject to being knocked over and would lend them what little heat they produced.
After spreading out every spare comforter and blanket they had over the bed, he stood feeling anxious and nervous and slightly sick to his stomach—very much like he had when he was a virgin with his first woman.
Then he handed her a tumbler full of whiskey and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you really think that this is a good idea?"
"It'll help you warm up. You take a couple good, big gulps. I will remain completely sober. I want you to know that, no matter what happened between us, you are totally safe with me—as long as I'm not drunk, apparently," he castigated himself.
"I know I am, Rory."
He was humbled by her unhesitating, heartfelt response, but even if she could find it in herself to forgive him, he wasn't going to be able to find that kind of charity for himself—probably ever.
"Do you need all of the lamps left on?" he asked, wanting her to be as comfortable as possible, but thinking of the practicalities as much as possible, too.
Andi bit her lip. Frankly, she wanted as many on as he had access to, but she knew the truth of the matter. It was highly unlikely that he had an unlimited supply of oil. "Why don't you turn two off and turn the others down?"
He tucked his chin to his chest, giving her a doubtful look. "Are you sure you'll be all right that way?"
She nodded, still looking very tentative about it.
He left three on, low, just in case.
Then he got into bed for the first time in more than a decade with a woman who wasn't his wife. He slid in with exaggerated care, hugging the edge, as if moving too much or too close to her would damage her somehow.
She had already shocked him pretty well by being the one to suggest that they snuggle in bed together after, but then she went a step further, although she couldn't quite get herself to look himself in the eye while she did so. "I've never been in this kind of situation before, but I always heard…
uh, aren't we supposed to be naked in order to share our body heat more efficiently?"
Rory closed his eyes as his body, some parts much more so than others, went rigid, thinking, " Fuck. Me."
Chapter V
"Uh, yes, that would be the most effective way, but I wouldn't want to do anything that might make you feel uncomfortable."
She cocked her head at him, braving a look at his face for the first time in a while. But, it was a short one. His tightly controlled expression sent her eyes skittering away from his. "Would it make you feel uncomfortable?"
Rory took a deep breath. Honesty was very important to him, so he didn't sugar coat his answer. "Being nude doesn't make me feel that way. I would be more concerned about how it would make you feel, especially if my body reacts as it's likely to. You know, to the presence of a naked woman in my arms."
Not her, specifically. She noticed he'd very carefully said 'a' naked woman.
Andi shrugged. "I’m truly not afraid of you, Rory. Or your hard on."
That was something that was pretty much impossible for him to accept from her. Not only because he'd thought that she definitely was afraid of him for all this time, but realizing just now that that was something he shouldn't have assumed about her. He probably should have asked her about how she felt. But, now he was prevented from doing that since he didn't want to make her feel anymore obviously awkward around him than she already was.
And then there was the big elephant in the room. They had just had intimate knowledge of each other, however inadvertently, and he couldn't think that she could possibly feel in the least at ease with him after that, no matter what she said.
But she was already taking off the clothes she'd just put on a few minutes ago, and he realized that if she was willing to do that, then there was no reason why he shouldn't join her. And, it was the best way to conserve their body heat and keep her warm, which was his most important goal.
Still, he was eternally grateful that she didn't throw herself at him. She even did her best to keep herself covered as much as possible while she was undressing, not trying to flash him or entice him—not that he'd necessarily thought that she would do anything like that, but it was nice to know that he hadn't totally misjudged her. From some truly terrible experiences, he certainly knew that some of Liz's friends would already have jumped him by
now, figuring that he'd had enough time to mourn.
"So, what's the best way to do this?" she asked, when they were both nude, but no closer to each other than they had been when he'd first gotten under the covers.
"Well, you're shivering already, and it takes quite a lot for me to get cold. So, if you don't mind, it would probably be best if we spooned, me around you. Liz used to say I gave off heat like a blast furnace, so it and the swigs of alcohol should help keep you toasty. I hope, anyway."
He had a feeling that he was going to be warm enough. Probably too warm. He knew that for a fact the moment her little behind nestled up against him. She was trembling and that kind of vibrated her whole body against him, which wasn't good, either.
He was already hard and only became more so, and there was nowhere for his length to go. Nowhere acceptable for him to go other than to end up pressing the unmistakable evidence of his desire up against her bare bottom.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered as he did so in the soft lamplight, his mouth, by necessity quite close to her ear.
She snorted. "Don't be. I know it's not for me."
"It's not?" he asked, confused and interested in just how she'd come to that conclusion.
"Yeah, you miss Liz, and it's leftover from… earlier."
Should he correct her, or not?
Perhaps it would be easier for her to continue to think that way, rather than knowing that she was the one inspiring his reaction—that he hadn't much thought of Liz since the power had gone out and she had shown herself to be so vulnerable. That had kicked in all of his not inconsiderable caretaker tendencies, and he'd been too concentrated on seeing to her to think about Liz, or his own misery, for the first time in a long time.
They lay there, in a horridly awkward, uncomfortable silence for a long time, both of them wide awake.
"Are you sleepy?" he asked finally.
"No."
"I'm sorry I didn't know about the afraid of the dark thing."
"How would you? I swore Liz to secrecy about it years ago, and it doesn’t come up much in conversation."
After another long pause, he asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a
question?"
She shrugged. "No, I guess. If I don't want to answer it, I won't."
"Did Liz as you to keep an eye on me after she…"
"Yes, of course she did. She was terrified that you were going to crawl into the woods and just let yourself die when she was gone. You two were so much in love, so bonded. I'm frankly surprised you didn't."
"I wanted to."
"I know. I could feel your sadness. It's still a palpable thing."
"Do you know why I didn't?"
She shook her head where it lay tucked against his muscular shoulder.
"Because of you. Because you kept bugging me, prodding at me, pulling me out into the sun when all I wanted to do was to hide in the shadows with my memories of her."
She shivered, and he wasn't sure if it was because she was still cold or not, but he tightened his arms around her anyway, just in case.
"You've been amazing to me through this whole thing. I don't think I've ever really said thank you for everything you did for us—or have done for me."
"There's no need to. We're fr—" Well, no
they really weren't. She tried again. "You're my best friend's husband, and I told her I'd look out for you, so I am."
It sounded as if she was doing jury duty or completing some other onerous civic duty, rather than seeing to a grieving friend, but then, they really weren't friends. They were acquaintances that had been forced together
—distressingly, unhappily on her part for some reason he had yet to understand—because of a third person they both loved.
Apparently unable to let it lie, he felt compelled to ask, "If you haven't been afraid of me all these years, then why have you avoided contact with me so assiduously? Do you not like me? Did I say or do something that put you off somehow?"
He would have to ask her that question. "I don't know if I can explain it to you, but it's nothing you've done overtly. You've only ever been very kind to me. In fact, the times in my life I've felt the most cared for were the times when you extended some of the security and protection you gave so selflessly, so effortlessly to Liz, as your wife, to me. You gave me what for when the cop car followed me into your driveway because I'd been speeding trying to get there for her party. You always made sure that all the
backbreaking stuff around the house was done whether I wanted you to or not. Even though you obviously knew I wasn't very… receptive to you, you never made me feel excluded from her life. Those are really lovely things to do for someone you don't think likes you."
Rory was silent for a moment, then said, "You just said some very nice things about me. Thank you. But you didn't answer my question."
His voice had taken on that tone— that one, the scolding one that she knew was going to be trouble for her, especially considering his proximity.
Andi sighed, swallowing. "It's not a pleasant truth. It's not one I think you really want or need to hear, especially now."
If he'd been intrigued before, he was even more so now. When he spoke, his voice was velvet soft, creeping into her ear and setting her body on fire. "I don't think that's your decision to make, Andrea Pierce Maurer."
Her full name.
Oh God.
She clamped her mouth shut, remaining silent for a long moment until he prompted, "Tell me."
The Substitute Wife Page 5
