“Maggie! I have more than enough. Cary could buy it for me if I didn’t have it, which I do. It’s just... What I mean is, I don’t . . . Hell, I don’t know what I mean.”
Maggie remained silent. This was a side of Amelia she’d never seen. Now she could understand the deep friendship between her mother and this woman.
“What would you do, Maggie?”
“I’d go for it. Life’s too short. If it’s going to make you happy, then that’s the way to go.”
“But I don’t know if it will. That’s a lot of money. What if I can’t handle it?”
“Amelia, I don’t think there’s anything in this life you can’t handle. If it doesn’t work, bail out. Resell it. It’s that simple.”
“I’m not going to rush into it, but on the other hand, what if someone snatches it out from under me?”
“Take an option. Put down some money till you’ve thought it through and talked it over with Cary. That’s what you’re really worried about, right?”
“A little. He’s a wonderful person, and sentimental in his own way. But I don’t think he’ll understand the price tag or what it will cost to refurbish.”
“If it’s what you want, I think he’ll agree:”
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow. God, it must be time to call Susan by now.”
Maggie tossed and turned all night long. The telephone conversation with Susan had done nothing to reassure her. Jerome had been reluctant to call his wife to the phone, but Amelia had insisted. Susan had sounded weary, as if even a telephone conversation was too much for her, although she’d tried to reassure Amelia and her sister that she was feeling fine.
“Someone’s not telling the truth here, and I know it isn’t Rand,” Amelia had said bitterly after they’d hung up. “I’m worried, Maggie, really worried. I know Susan, and I didn’t like the way she sounded. And Jerome saying she was just tired doesn’t make sense. It’s first thing in the morning over there, for God’s sake; she’s just had a night’s sleep! Another thing—Susan was always a chirpy little bird in the morning; she said it was the best part of the day for her. I don’t like it, not at all.”
Maggie hadn’t liked it, either. She worried over her sister all night long and still felt uneasy the next morning, as the lacy lavender shadows of a pale pink dawn followed her over the footpath to the cemetery on the knoll. When her feet grew wet and slippery from the dew, she bent down to remove her sandals and noticed for the first time that someone had walked the path earlier.
She stopped and looked around, slightly irritated that someone was intruding on what she considered to be her private place. Who from Sunbridge would be out this early? And why the cemetery? She walked softly on her bare feet, not afraid, only curious; she couldn’t imagine anything bad happening in this peaceful, tranquil place.
As she came closer to the knoll where the Coleman family rested, her sense of unease increased. She could hear a voice, indistinct and hurried. She crept even closer, careful to make no sound. Something seemed to warn her to remain out of sight. A splash of color, vibrant purple in the pale light, drew her eyes like a magnet. Amelia!
Maggie felt an enormous sense of relief. Of course it would be Amelia; who else would care enough to come to this place? As she debated whether to wait or leave, her aunt’s voice carried clearly to her on the fresh, clean air of a beautiful new day. . . .
“I think it’s a wise move on my part, Mam. I suppose I’m not being exactly honest with everyone when I tell them I’m buying your old homestead because of you. It’s too late for you. Maybe it isn’t too late for me. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I’m going to buy that damn house, and I’m going to fix it up just the way it was when you lived in it. Hell, Mam, maybe I’ll even live in it myself with Cary. God, I wish you were here. There’s so many things I’d like to talk over with you. This awful insecurity. Who would ever believe I live in mortal fear that Cary will leave me?”
“I would,” Maggie whispered to the quiet around her.
“You know, Mam, I’m so much older than he is. One of these days he’s going to take a good hard look at me and realize just how old I am. If you only knew how much I love this man. I think I could kill for him. . . .
“Did you ever have the feeling that when things are so good, something bad is going to happen? That’s exactly how I feel right now. I know something is going to go wrong. It’s too perfect. I’m too happy. I wouldn’t want to live if Cary left me. I couldn’t face the emptiness. Is that how you felt? Is that why you curled up inside yourself? But it wouldn’t take me twenty-five years to die, Mam,” Amelia whispered. “I know quicker ways.”
Maggie turned away, blinded by her tears. She had no right to stand here and listen. She felt like a criminal as she tried to back up the narrow footpath. A sudden purple movement made her dart into the bushes and crouch down. From her position in the shrubbery she had a clear view of Amelia standing by the gravestones. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she saw Amelia thumb her nose in the direction of Seth’s grave.
Moments later, Amelia’s pedicured feet passed by. Maggie waited for what seemed like a long time before she stood up. She made sure there was no sign of Amelia in her purple dress, then stepped onto the footpath.
Cary was just emerging from the shower when Amelia walked into the room. “So, you weren’t kidnapped after all. Watching the sun come up?”
“More or less. I was at the cemetery. It seemed like the thing to do when I woke up.” Amelia smiled warily.
“You don’t have to be defensive with me, Amelia. You don’t even have to explain. I thought you were downstairs on the patio watching the sun come up.... Is there anything bothering you, hon?”
Amelia sat on the edge of the bed watching her husband dress. She loved the way he kind of took a little hop and then zipped his pants. He grinned, and she grinned back, then took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about something. I want your opinion and your advice. I suppose that’s what I was looking for at the cemetery, but it was kind of a one-sided conversation. I guess I wanted to talk it out in my mind first. . . . Am I making sense?”
“Absolutely. What is it?” Cary asked, sitting down on the bed next to his wife.
“I want to buy a house.”
Cary threw his hands up in the air. “So what’s the problem?”
“It’s not just any house. It’s the house that my mother grew up in. I told you how Pap sold it out from under her. I found out it’s for sale and I want to buy it. I want to be sure I’m buying it for the right reasons.”
“Seems to me that if it was your mother’s house, that’s reason enough. Buy it.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Amelia, whatever makes you happy makes me happy. If you don’t know that by now, you never will.”
“I’ll have to renovate. There’s probably a lot of work to be done. The price is high, but then all real estate these days is high. I have the money; that’s not the problem.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know anything about real estate. Maybe you won’t even like the house. I have diagrams and a picture up in the attic. If I do decide to buy it, I want it to be exactly the way it was when Mam lived there. I thought it would give me something to do when you’re out on the construction site.”
“I like the idea. Home is wherever you are, babe. You know that. And don’t worry about what you know and don’t know. Who the hell ever thought I’d go into the building business? Go for it.”
“The price is one million six.”
“Steep. If you want it, get it.”
“No. Do you still think I can do it?”
“Hell, yes. Just don’t pay cash. Take as big a mortgage as you can get. It’ll be one hell of a tax write-off.”
“Mortgage? I was going to pay cash.”
“Never pay cash. Always use someone else’s money. How do you think I got where I am? You’re going to have to palave
r a little.”
“Oh, yeah.” Amelia grinned. “Seems like I just said that to you not too long ago.”
“I took your advice. Now it’s your turn. Go to whoever owns the house now, make an offer, then go to the bank. I wish I could go with you, but you know my schedule today. If you need me, call.”
“I will.... You know, Amelia, I feel as though I belong. Almost. Thanks to you, everyone has taken a real interest and no one has screwed me. I don’t expect they will, either. A handshake is good enough. You did all that for me.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“Oh, lady, you are so wrong. This is what you’re here for.”
Amelia giggled as Cary’s busy hands fumbled with the ties of her dress. “You’re going to be late,” she warned.
“Who cares? I’m the boss, remember? This is more important. You come first, honey. Remember that.”
Amelia sighed, growing languid now in his embrace.
“Now let’s do what we do best.”
When he held her like this, close against him, his hands urgent and demanding, taking possession of her before warming and slowing to tender caresses, Amelia’s heart pounded with an answering passion. She could be young again in Cary’s embrace, young and breathless and just a touch innocent. There was nothing to think about except his need, nothing to fill her world except this man. She loved him, needed him more than she wanted him to know. She wanted to satisfy him, to pleasure him, for only in his pleasure would she find her own.
Cary felt his wife yield to his embrace and offer herself to his hands and lips. He wondered at the miracle of her, at the way she instinctively knew what caress would heighten his desire, at the way she was always accessible to him, never holding back her favors. She was an experienced lover, knowledgeable of her own body, of what would make her respond and bring her satisfaction. Yet there was something fragile and innocent about her, too, and she always brought a freshness to their lovemaking that excited him and made him anticipate being locked in her embrace the next time. She imbued him with a sense of his own manhood, made him know and feel his own power; but most of all, Amelia made him know that he was loved, unconditionally, forever. That, more than anything, coming from a background where love, if given at all, was given in very small measures, made him completely hers.
Cary rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, putting her in the female-superior position they both enjoyed. Her knees gripped his hips as she rode him, her hands braced against his broad chest to push herself backward and take him deep inside herself. He steadied her movements by gripping her buttocks, supporting her with his pelvis, and measuring his movements to hers. Soon he felt the initial tremblings that told him she was near her climax. He watched her face, saw her close her eyes and throw her head back, an expression of sheer joy illuminating her features. That he could bring this woman such rapture, this woman he loved so well, brought him a special kind of satisfaction, a certain desire and passion. Just as he was aware of her body closing tightly around his, as her undulations deepened and a kittenish sound began to rise in her throat, he rolled her to the side, following after, his hips still imprisoned between her thighs, He buried himself deep within her, mimicking the rhythmical movements she had made while astride.
Amelia clung to Cary, following him with her body, answering him with her soul. That she could satisfy this man was ajoy beyond joy, and at the moment they shared their climax she laughed—a soft, deep sound of triumph.
Maggie was uneasy about several things this morning as she sipped her coffee at the breakfast table. First of all, there’d been that ludicrous conversation with Jerome and Susan; and secondly there was Amelia. Each time she pondered one, the other seemed to break into her thoughts.
Amelia. . . . Maggie knew her aunt dearly loved Cary Assante, but she was also aware of the difference in their ages. At the moment, it seemed Carry was also very much in love with his wife; but how long would that last? Forever? Was anything forever?
Cranston was the first one down, looking fit in a striped blue cotton knit pullover and casual white duck pants that hugged the lean length of his thighs. He helped himself to breakfast from an array of food laid out on the sideboard, then took a seat across from Maggie and poured himself coffee from the electric percolator.
“Nothing like life in the country, is there?” he asked enthusiastically. “Maggie, darling, why don’t we all go on a picnic today? We can leave as soon as Coleman and I get back from registering him at the high school.”
Maggie looked across the table, hardly believing her ears. “A picnic? I didn’t know you liked picnics. I don’t believe we ever went on one together. Or did we?”
“No, we didn’t. We should have. There’s a lot of things we should have done, Maggie. Maybe it’s not too late to start. I’m here now; I have all the time in the world. Why don’t we try getting to know each other again? It might make things easier between us. For Cole’s sake,” he added casually.
“Thank you for not throwing blame on me, Cranston,” Maggie said softly. “I wasn’t much of a wife, I know.” She hesitated. “I’m not sure about the picnic, though. I have two meetings and a luncheon scheduled for today. I gave my word. People expect me. I can’t just—”
Cranston leaned across the table. “Cancel them, Maggie,” he said, his voice husky.
Again Maggie hesitated. A picnic might be fun. There was no denying Cranston could be pretty persuasive when he wanted to be. Right now, his handsomeness, the tone of his voice, the vulnerability he was displaying, made it hard to believe they’d been so unhappy together. All the past hurts, the destruction they’d heaped upon one another, seemed so far away....
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a date,” she said, getting up from the table. “Just let me make a few phone calls and have Martha arrange a picnic basket for us. It should all be done by the time you come back with Cole.”
Cranston rewarded her with a boyish smile, one she hadn’t seen in what seemed like a hundred years.
When Cranston returned from Crystal City he found Maggie waiting for him, dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a loose-fitting sky-blue shirt, which she’d tied in a knot at her slender waist to expose a small patch of sun-darkened belly. Cranston drew in his breath. In a pair of scuffed sneakers with rolled-down socks and a bouncy ponytail, she looked about sixteen.
“Where’s Cole?” Maggie asked, looking behind Cranston for their son.
“He said picnics didn’t exactly turn him on, so I dropped him off at some kid’s house to go swimming.”
“Whose house?” Maggie demanded. “Don’t you know who it was?”
“Mike something or other. Hey, don’t get so worked up,” Cranston said soothingly. “I’d like to think I was the main attraction at this picnic.”
Maggie forced herself to relax. There could be other picnics with the three of them and after all, if she and Cranston got to know each other better this time, wouldn’t that eventually benefit Cole? “You won’t be the main attraction once you smell Martha’s fried chicken,” she laughed gaily.
Cranston felt the tension leave his shoulders. Not for anything did he want Maggie to know that he’d lied to Cole about this picnic in order to have her all to himself. “Do you have a spot in mind?” he asked as he led Maggie out the door and relieved her of the picnic basket.
“I know a beautiful spot. Susan, Riley, and I used to play there when we were little. We’d carry out play dishes and Riley would carry the picnic basket, and we’d stay there for hours.”
“So, you did have some good times here, after all,” Cranston said smoothly.
“Of course I had some good times,” she said defensively. “It just so happens that the bad outweighed the good.” She smiled. “You should have seen Riley trying to carry the basket. We had to tie a string on it so he could pull it. . . . I miss him, and there are times when I feel so guilty.” The moment the words were out Maggie regretted them. Cranston was not someone she wanted to confide i
n.
“Why in the world should you feel guilty about Riley?” he asked. “He was killed during wartime. Is that why you brought young Riley here?”
Maggie shrugged evasively. “I’m alive. I’m going on a picnic with a handsome man. Riley won’t even be able to go on a picnic or play ball with his son. I feel bad about that. And no, that’s not why I brought Riley here. The boy has every right, Cranston. All of this,” she said, waving her hand, “would be his if his father hadn’t died. I can’t forget that and I won’t. I thought Cole and Riley would become friends since they’re cousins and the same age. Unfortunately, Cole is prejudiced, much like you, Cranston. But Riley is doing well on his own. He’s got all sorts of friends and”—she grinned—“he’s already beating the girls off with a stick. The children have accepted him more readily than they’ve accepted Cole. But it’s Cole’s fault. He simply isn’t interested. He doesn’t even seem interested in girls. Academically, though, I think they’re going to be neck and neck.” Maggie pointed down a small incline. “So, what do you think?”
Cranston peered over the small ridge to gaze down where his wife was pointing. “Looks like a glade of some sort.”
“It is. There’s a small spring-fed pond that makes the ferns and bushes grow. There’re some pines on the other side. It smells so good. All pungent and woodsy. Susan used to fall asleep on the fern fronds. We’d make little pallets. First the pine needles, then the ferns. Do you want to?” Maggie asked eagerly with a peculiar light in her eyes.
“Why the hell not!” Cranston shouted as he slid down the embankment, Maggie right behind.
They worked in companionable silence arranging their fragrant pallets. Maggie knew Cranston was having fun in spite of himself. It was probably the first time he’d actually put his penknife to use. She felt like a kid herself.
“I think mine’s a little neater,” she said when they’d finished, “and I didn’t have a knife. But I’m experienced. You have to be careful the way you break off a fern frond. Yours will do, but you left too much end on the frond; it’s going to prick you. I’ll spread the cloth and you can take out the goodies. Martha always outdoes herself for picnics.”
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