The 39-Year-Old Virgin

by Marie Ferrarella

  Chapter Twelve

  The rush, the euphoria that her first experience with lovemaking created and sustained, was absolutely incredible. Claire had always thought of herself as a down-to-earth person, but this had felt like an out-of-body experience. It definitely fell under the heading of a minor miracle. She’d had no idea it could be so incredibly pleasurable.

  And even after it was over, as she slowly floated back to earth, she could hardly catch her breath. Her pulse hammered wildly and a plethora of feelings danced through her, mingling so that she couldn’t focus on any one of them. Instead, she just enjoyed and savored them all.

  Gradually, she became aware that her eyes were still closed. When she opened them, she saw that Caleb had raised himself up on his elbow and was watching her.

  Was he disappointed? Heaven knew she wasn’t. If anything, she was magnificently overwhelmed. But he had experiences to compare this to. Did she come up sorely lacking? She wished she could read his expression, but couldn’t. She only hoped that the experience didn’t rank as a low point in his life.

  Claire drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out again. She willed herself not to sound breathless. And prayed that her voice wouldn’t crack.

  Her mouth curved. “Waiting for me to start casting out beams of light?”

  Tenderness had been absent from his life. The seamy world he moved through every day in his line of work had hardened him, changing him from the lighthearted boy he’d once been. And Jane’s death had wiped him out completely. But there was a faint stirring now, like the distant sensation of an itch existing on a surface that had previously been rendered totally numb.

  He curbed the desire to lightly stroke her face. “Just want to make sure you’re all right.”

  His sensitivity touched her more than she could possibly say. It tucked itself around all of her newly budded emotions like a soft, downy blanket. To her surprise—and relief—she felt no guilt. She knew it was just a matter of time. Having been raised to be “a good little girl” and having been a Dominican Sister to boot, sprigs of guilt were a way of life. But for now, she’d savor its absence.

  Rather than guilt, she was confused. What she’d experienced had been so wondrous, and yet, she knew that she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen. For a multitude of reasons.

  If, perhaps now, a sliver of guilt was making its appearance, it was there because she’d enjoyed sampling this “forbidden fruit” so very much.

  In a way, she almost felt as if she’d been reborn.

  “I think,” she told him, addressing his comment, “that I’m way beyond ‘all right.’ I think I’m hovering somewhere around ‘fantastically incredible.’”

  Amused, Caleb couldn’t contain the soft laugh that escaped. This time, he did allow himself to run his knuckles against her cheek. He watched as emotions seemed to blossom in her eyes.

  “Yes,” he agreed, “you were.”

  Claire sighed, taking stock, trying to find her way back to a point she was familiar with. It wasn’t easy and she didn’t give this feeling up willingly. There were still the remnants of shooting stars darting to and fro within her. And her body was tingling, especially at the very center. Orgasm was far too plebian a word to describe what she’d experienced. She continued to hug the sensation to her.

  And then, slowly, it dawned on her what Caleb had just said. That he wasn’t disappointed with their lovemaking. Wasn’t disappointed with her hopelessly novice attempts to give him back a little of the pleasure he’d created for her.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  “Really.” He had an urge to kiss her again, and to just hold her to him. Nothing more, just hold her.

  As the thought sank in, he froze.

  That was the way it had been with Jane. He’d loved just holding her in his arms. How could he be replacing her so soon? What was the matter with him?

  Claire saw the change in his face immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He’d nearly snapped the answer out, but stopped himself at the last moment. He was angry at himself, not her.

  “‘Nothing’ brought a dark look into your eyes,” she told him. Tugging, she brought the comforter up around her and covered herself with it. She sat up and looked at him. The moment was gone. She was his friend again, with a little of Sister Michael on the side. “There’s no reason to feel guilty.”

  Caleb looked at her sharply, an annoyed retort on his lips, framed in denial. It died soundlessly. There was no point in lying. He did feel guilty. Which struck him as ironic, considering the circumstances. “I should be the one saying that to you.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “You should.”

  But she wasn’t going to deal with the tiny slivers of guilt that were beginning to prick her, at least, not right now. She could only deal with one thing at a time and he needed her. So she sublimated her own needs, her own insecurities, concerns and fears that started to push forward, in order to help him with his.

  “Jane wouldn’t have wanted you to feel guilty.” She saw the brooding look descending over him. He didn’t like her invading personal territory. Too bad. It was what friends did for each other. “Danny told me some things about his mom and she sounds like she was a wonderful person.”

  Why did the mere mention of her name still hurt so damn much? “She was.”

  She wanted to hold him, to comfort him. But she knew where that would lead. They needed to talk now. So she knotted her fingers together in her lap and prayed that she hadn’t lost the ability to talk someone into feeling better about themselves.

  “Wonderful people don’t want the people they love to go into hiding, to mourn them for the rest of their own natural lives. Jane would have wanted you to be happy,” she told him in a quiet, firm voice. “To be there for Danny and find your way out of the darkness.”

  “Is this what you did as a nun?” he asked. “Give pep talks, try to make people feel better?”

  The habit and her vows had nothing to do with her inherent desire to help others. But it was why she’d deliberately chosen an order that wasn’t cloistered, the Dominican Sisters as opposed to the Dominican nuns.

  She wasn’t the type to silently do penance for the rest of the world, locking herself away from that same world. She was far too active for that kind of life, too concerned about helping people heal both physically and mentally to hang back and leave it all up to God to do on His own. Sometimes, He liked a little help. They’d been a kind of team once, she recalled. Maybe, in a way, they could be one again.

  “This is what I did as me,” she told him. “What I do as me,” she added. She offered him a smile. “Usually, I’m fairly successful.”

  He laughed shortly. She was persistent, if nothing else. “I bet you are.”

  Claire shifted, still keeping the comforter tucked tightly around her. She could feel it slip along her back, but that couldn’t be helped. The awkwardness of the situation was beginning to penetrate.

  Claire raised her chin, a touch of pride entering her voice. “I’d better go.”

  This was where he should say “Yes, fine.” And yet, he realized that he didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay. With him. Damn, but there was no end to his confusion. “You can stay the night.”

  “But you’d rather I didn’t,” she guessed. It wasn’t difficult to read the ambivalence in his eyes. She took no offense. This had been a big step not just for her, but for him, as well. “That’s all right,” she added quickly when she saw he was struggling with a denial, “I’ve got to get back to my mother before she becomes convinced that I’ve taken a nonstop express elevator into hell. Besides, I’m sure Nancy’s gone home by now.”

  Caleb nodded. Maybe this was for the best, after all. Reaching for the jeans he’d discarded on the floor, he swiftly slid them on. Finding his shirt took a bit of doing. Somehow, it had been kicked under the bed. He shook it once to get the dust off it, then slipped it on.

  “I’ll drive you
home,” he announced.

  He probably didn’t realize why he couldn’t do that. She smiled, shaking her head. “That’s all right, you stay here with Danny. I can call a cab.”

  Danny. He’d almost forgotten about the boy. That had never happened before, no matter what his state. Damn, but he was addled tonight. She was right, of course. He couldn’t just leave the boy asleep in his bed. That would have been the height of irresponsibility.

  Caleb nodded as he dragged an exasperated hand through his hair. “If you don’t mind…” He had no idea how to end his sentence.

  Wearing the comforter around her like a bulky Roman toga, the clothes she’d gathered together pressed against her chest, Claire paused just before the bathroom to smile at him.

  “I don’t mind,” she assured him. “Besides, I’d be worried about Danny being alone.”

  It was only a ten-minute run to her house. Twenty for a round trip. But she was right, Danny couldn’t be left alone. What if the boy woke up while he was out and needed him? It was too late to rouse Mrs. Collins out of bed and ask her to watch Danny even though she’d said she was available anytime, day or night. He saved those times for when he was called away to the job in the wee hours of the night.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he waited for Claire to emerge from the bathroom. When she did, he gave her the name of a local cab company. She made the call and he walked her downstairs. Then accompanied her to the front door when the cab arrived some ten minutes later.

  “Look in on Danny from time to time tonight,” she advised. She was just giving him medical advice. Why was her heart pounding again? And why was she fighting an urge to kiss him one last time? Without realizing it, her voice was picking up speed. “And if he throws up, take him to the Emergency Room immediately. And when you get there—”

  He shoved his hands deeper into his back pockets, knowing if they were free, he’d be pulling her to him. As an added deterrent, he reminded himself that the cab driver was watching them. The urge wouldn’t go away.

  “Yes?”

  She ran her tongue along her lips, trying to moisten them. They felt bone-dry. As dry as her throat did. “Call me and I’ll come down right away.”

  “Why? What could you do then?”

  “I could hold your hand and tell you it was going to be all right.”

  He almost let her go. And then, just as she turned away from him, he caught her by the waist, turning her back toward him.

  And kissed her one last time. Even though the cab driver was watching.

  The effects of Caleb’s last kiss still lingered sweetly in Claire’s mind and on her lips as she walked through the door of her house fifteen minutes later.

  She was going to have to find a way to deal with that, Claire told herself. Later. Right now, she just wanted a few more minutes to enjoy it.

  Considering the late hour, she fully expected the house to be silent and dark. Margaret Santaniello had never been a night owl, preferring to go to bed by ten at the latest, if not earlier. Her father used to tease her mother about that, saying that if he hadn’t had her, Claire, to pal around with, he would have been a lonely man. She and her father watched old movies aired by one of the local stations, but mostly, they talked. About everything.

  She caught herself missing him, even after all these years. The moment she did, she instantly felt for Caleb. His wife had only been gone a little more than a year. How raw was his wound?

  A faint bluish light emerged from the family room, along with the low drone of voices. Did her mother have company? At this hour? She found it highly doubtful. There wasn’t any other car in the driveway. Her mother was alone.

  So then who…?

  As she pocketed her key and walked in farther, the drone turned into audible dialogue. Or rather, a monologue. Someone touted the services of a local florist.

  A commercial.

  The television set was on. Curious, Claire walked into the family room. And then she smiled to herself. Her mother was on the sofa, sitting before the TV. The remote control was dangling from her fingers, a hair’s breadth away from falling on the floor.

  Margaret Santaniello was sound asleep.

  Looking at her, Claire shook her head. “I’m too old for you to wait up for, Mother,” she chided softly.

  As gently as she could, she removed the remote control from her mother’s lax fingers and put it on the coffee table. Closing the TV, she took the large, soft gray throw that resided on the back of the sofa and spread it over her mother, covering her. It wasn’t cold, but the temperature tended to drop in the predawn hours. She didn’t want her mother catching a chill on top of everything else.

  “No, you’re not,” Margaret answered, opening her eyes and causing Claire’s heart to leap into her throat. “There’s no set cut-off point where you stop being a mother. In for a penny, in for a pound,” she added. Yawning, she rotated her neck. It had obviously grown stiff in that position. “So,” she asked, looking at Claire, “how was it?”

  Guilt had her freezing. They said that some mothers were very intuitive when it came to their children, no matter what their age. Her mother couldn’t possibly tell how her evening had wound up.

  Could she?

  “‘It?’” Claire asked, hoping that she sounded sufficiently innocent.

  Her mother gave her an odd look, as if she didn’t quite understand her reaction. “Dinner. You went out with Caleb for dinner, didn’t you?”

  Thank God she didn’t suspect. “Yes, I did.”

  Margaret looked at her watch, angling it slightly in order to make out the numbers. It was an analog watch given to her by her husband on her wedding day. “You must have had really slow service.”

  “Mrs. Collins called just as we finished eating and Caleb was about to bring me home,” Claire began to explain, grateful that she could fall back on the truth. “Danny hit his head. I insisted Caleb take me to his house so that I could make sure that Danny was all right.”

  It seemed to her that her mother was looking at her very closely. “And was he?”

  “Yes. It was just a bump. A rather big one, actually.” Offering her mother her arm, she helped get the older woman to her feet. “But I stayed around just to make sure that everything was all right and that he didn’t suddenly pass out or start throwing up. Danny asked me to read him a story before he went to bed. You know how that goes….” She let her voice trail off.

  Margaret nodded, still looking at her. “And he fell asleep just now?”

  “No, a while back.” She knew her mother was waiting to find out why it had taken her so long to get home. “After that, Caleb and I…talked,” she finally said, vacillating between telling her mother the truth and seeking the shelter of a lie. She decided that her mother had enough to deal with as it was. If Margaret Santaniello thought that her daughter was making love with someone, especially a younger man, that just might send her over the edge. Better a small “untruth” than a large problem, she told herself.

  She still didn’t feel comfortable about it.

  Margaret nodded. “You obviously had a lot to…talk about,” her mother said, mimicking her cadence. They were walking toward the staircase and she was having trouble with her hip. Another new malady, she thought with a frustrated sigh. Always something. “Well, now that you’re home, I can go to bed.”

  The declaration amused Claire as she took small steps, guiding her mother.

  “How did you go to bed all those nights I wasn’t here?” she asked. She’d always told her mother where she would be, in case she wanted to write. While she served in Africa, letters from home were treasured. How had her mother adjusted to her living in such dangerous conditions?

  Margaret laughed, mostly at herself. “I spent a lot of nights falling asleep here on the sofa. It made me feel closer to you and your father. You both spent a lot of time there.” She placed a supportive hand to the small of her back. “Could be why I have so much back pain,” she theorized. Just as she got to
the base of the stairs, Margaret stopped. One hand on the banister, she raised her head and looked at her daughter. “Is he good?” she asked.

  Claire felt slightly lost. As Margaret began moving again, Claire matched her step for step. It wasn’t easy. “Who?”

  “Caleb, of course,” Margaret said with a touch of impatience. “Is he good…at talking?”

  Claire had no idea if her mother was just slightly muddled because she was still half-asleep, or if she saw right through the excuse.

  For better or for worse, Claire decided to continue the game. “Yes, he is.”

  Margaret nodded, as if she expected as much. “Good to know.”

  They reached the top and her mother deliberately let go of her arm, wanting to go the rest of the distance on her own. She stayed close to one wall as she made her way to her room.

  Claire watched her progress, not knowing what to make of the exchange they’d just had. Should she comment on it? Ask her mother if she thought that something was going on between her and Caleb?

  No, for now, it would probably be best just to let it go. With any luck, her mother was just talking in circles and didn’t mean anything by it. Most likely, guilt, that emotion she’d been missing initially, just made her read things into her mother’s words. Her mother probably didn’t mean it to sound the way that it had.

  But Claire doubted it.

  The huge butterflies in her stomach told Claire that she wasn’t sure just how she was going to face Caleb the next time she saw him. For that matter, she had no idea how he was going to act, either.

  Would he ignore her? Act like nothing had happened? Or just elect to drop out of sight?