The problem with all this sex-is-just-sex stuff, she reflected, is that when the sex is indescribably great, it was too easy to start thinking it should be more, that it ought to attach to something, something important. Or maybe…it was just the opposite. Emily stopped walking.
Maybe last night and today had been so wonderful, so different from anything she’d ever felt before, simply because it was “just sex.” What if knowing they’d probably never meet again was the reason she’d felt so free? She smiled. Probably best not to over-analyze the whole thing; it would be ending soon, no matter what she thought about it.
*
When he saw there were two more cars in the drive, Joe thought absolutely not, not more people, not right now, and veered off through the snow. “I think I should take this in through the back,” he called over his shoulder. “See you inside, cutie.”
He needed a couple minutes to collect himself. Emily was definitely getting under his skin – he shouldn’t have allowed himself to kiss her that way. But she was so beautiful, so exciting – and she gave herself so freely – she was driving him crazy.
I should just keep on walking, he thought. Leave the turkey on the back porch, find the highway, stick his thumb out. Or better, hang onto the turkey and slink into the forest. He could build a shelter, stop bathing, parcel out the meat over the winter and when it was gone, catch fish with his teeth. When his beard grew long and his clothes raggedy the local kids would whisper about having caught a glimpse of “Turkey Man” deep in the woods. He’d become a different kind of local legend.
Joe laughed out loud, thinking how even that sounded preferable to going back to Casper. Maybe on Saturday he’d hitch to Tahoe or someplace, find a bus station and see how far his seventy-odd bucks would take him. At the moment, though, it was time to face the crowd.
His arms were beginning to ache when someone at last heard him banging at the door with his foot. Inside it was suffocatingly hot and there seemed to be about forty people milling around the kitchen. Mrs. Elmore looked distraught. “All right,” he said so loudly he startled even himself, “the turkey has arrived. Everyone out except the cook.”
Startled faces turned to him and the crowd dispersed quickly. A youngish couple murmured to each other and Joe overheard the girl say “I have no idea,” on her way out. Looking relieved, Mrs. Elmore said, “Why thank you, Joe. Now I can think.”
“You can probably cut the resting time on the bird, Ellie,” he said.
“Go on out, then, and tell Mike to come back in twenty minutes or so, all right?”
He got a bottle of beer from the fridge and found Emily out on the sun porch, staring off into space as an enthusiastic-looking guy holding a wine bottle talked to her. “Oh, Joe,” she said, her tone a little desperate, “come meet my cousin Alec.”
They shook hands; Alec launched back into his Napa travelogue and Joe tuned out immediately. He’d landed a couple gigs in fancy restaurants and the more he’d learned about wine, the more convinced he grew that no one knew what they were talking about. He studied Emily’s profile, remembering the smell and taste of her, the sheer joy of her, until he felt his cock begin to stiffen again. “Well, great to meet you, Alec,” he said at the next pause. “Guess I’d better wander out and meet the rest of your family.”
“I’ll make the introductions,” said Emily hastily. “Let me know when you open the bottle, Alec – I’d love to try it.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll open it. I just thought people would want to see it.”
“Ah,” said Emily, obviously completely at a loss. “It’s…well, it’s very pretty.”
Alec looked pleased with that peculiar statement and they left him gazing contentedly at the label. “Seems like a nice enough guy,” said Joe as they moved through the dining room.
Emily scrunched up her face. “He’s a snob and you know it. Come on, only three more people. My other uncle – don’t ask about his wife, she ran away with her boss years ago – my annoying cousin Debbie – but don’t call her that, it’s ‘Deborah’ now – and her, fourth, I think, fiancé. Don’t know a thing about him, he’s new.” She caught at his sleeve and added in a lower voice, “And by the way, I’ll give you ten bucks and a blow job if she ever uses my name.”
Joe almost did a spit take with his beer. He looked at her, eyebrows raised, and said, “I’ll take that bet – I could use ten bucks.”
Mr. Elmore waved them over. “Joe, come say hello to my brother Morris. Doesn’t remember you at all, memory’s going I suppose.”
Okay, thought Joe, caught a break there, probably won’t have to endure any reminiscing from this guy at least. They shook hands, and Morris squinted at him for a moment. “You know who you remind me of?”
Here it comes, thought Joe, and braced himself.
“Gary Cooper. Bet you hear that all the time. Debbie, er, Deborah, come meet Joe, tell me he’s not a dead ringer for Gary Cooper.”
The couple he’d seen in the kitchen wandered over, both looking slightly confused. “Who’s Gary Cooper?” the girl said.
Morris seemed shocked. “Go away again, young lady. I’m ashamed to call you my daughter.”
Joe laughed and introduced himself to the girl while her companion continued to look him over carefully. “I’m sorry,” he said very seriously, “I’m afraid I don’t see the resemblance. Gary Cooper, North by Northwest, right?”
“That would be Cary Grant, Freddie. You can go away too. I don’t know what’s wrong with your generation,” said Morris.
Deborah, ignoring her father, turned to Emily. “Hello, career girl, this is Frederick, my fiancé. How’re things in Beantown?”
Emily actually winced. “Things in Boston are just fine, thanks. Hello Frederick, nice to meet you.”
“I would like,” said Mike from the sofa, “everyone to go away, unless they are interested in the game and can pipe the hell down.”
Joe sat down in a hurry. “This a good one, too?”
When he glanced up at her, Emily tried to give him a dirty look, but she was clearly trying not to laugh. “C’mon, Deborah, we’ll go talk to your brother – he’s out on the sun porch with Uncle Herb.”
They meandered out; Joe settled comfortably into his chair, sipped his beer and listened to the familiar cadence of the announcer calling the game. George gave an occasional grunt or snore from his bed by the fire. Outside the window the snow was coming down with a little more purpose – nice to watch, but he wondered how far all these people had to drive after dinner. “There he goes again,” said Mike without much excitement. “Kid leads the league in fumbles.”
“No surprise there,” said Morris. “Did the same thing in college.”
Dinner prep seemed to be gearing up – Abby was moving between the kitchen and dining room, delivering filled salad plates. Emma walked in and carefully placed a small bowl of jelly on the second table in the living room. Mrs. Elmore, a bit harried, appeared and said, “Joe? Potatoes?”
“At your service, Ellie,” he replied, standing up.
Aaron came down the stairs as Joe passed; his clothes, his hair, even his face looked rumpled. “Hey, man,” said Joe sympathetically, “can I bring you a beer or something?”
“Something caffeinated,” said Aaron, sinking into a chair. “And if you see Abby, tell her Mattie’s finally asleep.”
After finding him a Coke, Joe headed back to the kitchen the other way and paused for a moment in the dining room. There was some hoopla going on out on the sun porch, Alec pounding along the molding of one of the windows and muttering to himself. Frederick was beside him, straining with the crank. “No, no, trust me guys,” Emily was saying, “it wasn’t installed right. You’re cranking it the wrong—”
A screeching crack ripped through the house and the tall casement window wildly lurched all the way open on its hinges, hesitated a moment, then slammed shut again. “What the hell was that?” bellowed Mike from the living room.
Emily burst out laugh
ing. “Got that stuck window open, Dad,” she managed to yell back. Frederick stood, dumbfounded, staring at the broken metal crank in his hand. The window began an eerie quivering, then flew wide open again in another gust of wind.
“Should cool down pretty fast now,” said Joe as he walked in.
All at once, the room was filled with people – Mrs. Elmore, Dottie and Abby from the kitchen, Mike and Morris from the living room. Upstairs, the baby wailed; Emma walked in and tugged at her mom’s sleeve. “Mattie’s crying, Mommy.”
Snow was blowing in to melt on the slate floor. Just as Joe leaned out to grasp the edge, the window slammed shut again – he pulled his head back in the nick of time. “Holy shit,” he blurted.
From behind him, Mrs. Elmore spoke, sounding strangely calm. “Well. Someone’s going to have to take care of that,” she said. “Or we’ll just eat in our coats,” she added philosophically. “Come along, Joe, I’ve got the milk warming.”
“I’ll get the toolbox,” sighed Mr. Elmore.
*
About half an hour later, everyone was seated, plates filled, window nailed shut, some semblance of order restored. Emily wound up between chattering Emma and nearly comatose Aaron. Joe was across the table and a couple places up, next to her mom – he looked contented, but slightly suspicious, as if uncertain the scene around him was real.
Now and then their eyes would meet and each time, Emily would feel her heart give a little jump and she’d catch her breath. Right before dinner she’d run upstairs to the bathroom and when she came out, Joe was waiting just outside the door. He wore a small, dangerous smile. She tried to brush by, but he caught her hand and said “Excuse me, miss.”
Her boxed her in, putting his hands on the wall on either side of her head and stared into her eyes. He kept his body away from hers, but his face was inches away as he said, “Remember what I said about prolonging things? It’s not as much fun as I hoped.”
Now his eyes were on her mouth and Emily waited, her arms at her sides. His lips touched hers lightly, then moved to her cheek, her neck, back up to her ear, while he murmured to her. “As soon as dinner is over, when everyone starts to move around again…” One of his hands slid down to cup her breast. “…I want you to go up to my room and wait. I’ll be right behind you.”
As his fingertips began to circle her nipple and his lips moved back to her mouth, she closed her eyes, sighed, felt herself growing moist. “I want,” he said, “to feel your mouth on me again before I fuck you.” He pinched her nipple hard and held it. “Okay?”
Emily wanted to drop to her knees, unzip his jeans, take him into her mouth right now. His tongue slid into her mouth and she moaned, too loudly. “Shhh,” he whispered gently and placed a finger on her lips.
Greedily, she closed her mouth around it, sucked, and saw his eyes change and lose focus. Then abruptly, he stepped away from her. “Yikes,” he said softly, shaking his head. “You are like…a drug. I will see you…later.” He spun on his heel and hurried from the room.
It took a few minutes for Emily to pull herself together. A drug – he was right. Every time they were alone together, she felt so unlike her normal businesslike, competent self. And that inner voice of hers, the voice that watched and judged and graded everything she did was silenced – she completely forgot to monitor herself.
“Hey, Lois Lane, you up there?” Debbie’s voice called. “Dinner is served.”
Emily took a last look at herself in the mirror and started down. Her cousin was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, watching her descent. “You know, I just realized something,” she said. “What happened – did you lose your phone?”
“What?”
“Where’s that phone that’s usually glued to your hand? I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without it since we were kids.”
Wow. She was right. Emily didn’t answer, just turned around and went back to her room. She hadn’t even been checking the internet or watching TV – what if something important had happened in Boston and the station had been trying to reach her? This is what came of being preoccupied with a guy. No – she corrected herself – with sex.
It was a relief to find no one had called except Mark, informing her he was safely home. It was a little sad, too, she realized. No “we miss you” messages from the office, no “Happy Thanksgiving” wishes from friends. Well, that’s what happens if you change cities every two or three years, thought Emily. How could she be expected to make close friends if she was always moving around?
This was the choice she’d made and things would certainly be different once her career was in place. She’d have plenty of friends, and a real relationship with a man when she reached New York. No reason to think about it now.
As she walked downstairs into the friendly clamor of her extended family, she forgot all her slight misgivings about the path she’d chosen. Emma ran over to usher her to her seat. “See, Aunt Em’ly, this is the card I made for you, right next to mine.”
They sat down and Emily leaned over to whisper to her niece. “Mine is the prettiest.” Emma beamed.
The meal was wonderful and after a while Emily realized she’d worked her way through a mountain of food but could happily keep going – she was voraciously hungry. She looked over, saw that Joe, too, was eating like crazy. Smiling, she put down her fork and stretched a bit.
From the table in the living room, she could hear signs that a friendly argument was starting to escalate. “As per usual, Morris, you have no idea what you’re talking about and yet you continue to—” Dottie was cut off.
“You’re the one who doesn’t know the facts—”
“Knock it off in there,” her father called over his shoulder, “or I will come in and turn up the volume on the game to a deafening roar.”
“Butt out, Mike, nobody asked you,” Dottie called back, but she was beginning to laugh.
Her mother was rolling her eyes; Deborah was snickering and Frederick looked like he was having second thoughts about joining this family. Joe wore the bemused expression Emily was learning to cherish – he looked so relaxed, so much less haunted. Beside her, Aaron roused himself enough to change the subject by proposing a toast to the cook. “Here, here,” everyone said, and the clatter of finishing up and stacking plates began.
“When the table is cleared, I’m just going to set out desserts and let everyone help themselves,” her mother announced. “And then I intend to sit down and put my feet up.”
After Emily and Abby got dishwasher loaded, Emily got a slice of pumpkin pie and sat down at the table with Joe and Alec. Several people had tried a single bite of the squash pudding, declared it delicious, and quickly moved on to pie. As the afternoon faded into dusk, that peaceful post-feast indolence settled around the house – a little quiet chatting, a little dozing.
Abby wandered in and asked Emily to mind Emma while she fed the baby. Aaron was going to bed, despite the hour. Joe rolled up his sleeves and went in to tackle the pots and pans, giving her a rueful look as he left. Emily wished she could go out and help, slide her hand along his strong forearm in the soapy water, feel the muscles beneath the slippery skin. Even watching him unbutton his cuffs to roll his sleeves had excited her – there was something so casually masculine about that gesture. He’d noticed her eyes on him, deliberately slowed down his movements and she’d squirmed a little in her chair.
She and Alec dutifully played a kids’ version of Monopoly with Emma until Morris came in to say he wanted to get moving before the roads iced up. Debbie and Frederick left half an hour later. “Good night, and Happy Thanksgiving, newshound,” Debbie had said. Dottie, Herb and Emily’s mom were playing some quiet three-handed bridge out on the sun porch. The house was restful, the hubbub over.
The rattle and clank of pot washing from the kitchen had ended some time ago – she had no idea what had become of Joe. When Abby came downstairs, Emily asked her to take over for a while – she needed to stretch her legs. She peeked into the kit
chen, found it empty, went out to the sun porch to check on the card players, then headed for the living room.
Her father was ensconced in his favorite chair, still watching football and reading the few pages of the paper not devoted to Black Friday specials. He put a warning finger to his lips and jerked his head towards the sofa the moment she entered the room. Joe lay stretched out, his head on a cushion, his long legs angled over the edge. Flash, also sound asleep, was comfortably curled against his chest.
Emily backed silently out of the room and went out to the sun porch. “Um, Mom, would you come with me for just a minute? There’s something you need to see. You, too, Abby,” she added as they passed through the dining room.
The three of them stood at the wide entry, gazing at the picture before them. “Well, I’ll be damned,” whispered her mother, who never swore. “Wow,” said Abby quietly, “I’ve never seen her do that.”
The cat raised her head, gave them one malevolent, not-one-step-further look and closed her eyes again. Emily lingered for a minute after the others left, gazing at Joe. He looked ten years younger, the deeply etched lines of chronic pain erased from his face – she felt a rush of unexpected tenderness sweep through her. Forcing herself to leave before her father noticed her staring, Emily returned to Monopoly but had trouble following the simple game.
This sense of attachment was new and unsettling. She’d never felt this way before – it was almost as though she wanted to take care of him or something. Emily sat up straight and tried her best to concentrate on a game intended for five-year-olds.
The evening unfolded peacefully; Herb and Dottie left around seven, laden with leftovers. Emily got Emma ready for bed and read a page and a half of Winnie the Pooh before the little girl fell asleep. Joe was awake when she went downstairs, talking to her parents – he gave her another look of regret and a tiny shrug. There hadn’t been a single opportunity to slip away.
Her mother made a half-hearted attempt to interest them in turkey sandwiches. Everyone groaned, then allowed as how maybe “just a bite or two” would be a good idea. Sandwiches were made and consumed at the kitchen table; the day was dissected and deemed a success, squash pudding excepted. Emily realized she and Joe were working so hard to avoid looking at each other that it threatened to become obvious.
Hope Falls: Giving a Little (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 8
