But he’d never met anyone who could drive him so crazy with her stubborn unwillingness to accept help.
When he got to his office, he scanned the bookshelves for his Shakespeare. Not finding it, he went to search the bookshelves in his bedroom instead. There, he found the big Riverside Shakespeare he’d gotten in college and pulled it off the shelf.
As he carried it back into the kitchen, he saw that Emily was sprawled over the bar again. She’d confiscated his newspaper, but at the moment she was reaching over to get the last of the icing off the plate with her finger.
She was sitting on her folded legs again, which he couldn’t believe was very comfortable. She leaned forward, bracing her weight on her forearms on the counter with the newspaper spread out in front of her.
Her top was riding up on her back, and he could see a wide expanse of smooth, fair skin. Her position had caused the waistband of her pajama pants to dip low at the back, revealing the top of what looked like blue cotton underwear.
For a moment, he was startled by how lush the curve of her ass was, the rounded shape highlighted by her position and the thinness of the fabric stretched over it. A flash of physical interest surprised him as he stared at the deeply curved line from her slim waist to her full hips.
It only took a few seconds for him to realize what he was doing. He jerked his gaze away with a guilty cringe.
He was not—not—going to be that man. The man who leched after a vulnerable seventeen-year-old just because she happened to be available.
If only he hadn’t instinctively turned around when she'd squealed getting out of the water on Friday night. She’d ducked down immediately, but he’d still had time to see her. While he’d been too surprised to immediately register what he’d seen, it didn’t take long for his mind to catch up. After she’d hugged him and he’d noticed the way her dress clung to her breasts, he’d finally processed the memory of her walking out of the lake like a naked, sopping-wet Aphrodite.
Her skin was pale, and it had almost glowed in the moonlight. Her breasts were full and firm with peaked nipples, bouncing slightly with her motion in the hip-deep water.
And, damn it, his body was interested in that memory.
Paul's body clearly had none of the scruples that his mind had, but he refused to let it do what it wanted. This was too important. These were the last weeks of Emily’s life.
He was going to do right by her, no matter what it took. He was not at the mercy of his passing sexual interests, and so far he’d been fairly successful in not entertaining sexual thoughts about his wife.
But it would have been easier if he hadn’t seen her naked.
“What’s that?” Emily asked, looking back and catching him standing there like an idiot.
“Shakespeare.” He pulled himself together and walked over to place the book on the counter beside her. “It will be easier to read the plays this way.”
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “Although the size of that book is a little intimidating.”
He returned her smile, relieved that he’d once again managed to lock away any inappropriate thoughts about her where they wouldn’t trouble him. “You’ll get through them all faster than you think.”
She murmured thanks and fanned through the pages of the large book, and the position of her arm suddenly highlighted something he hadn’t noticed before.
With a sharp inhalation, Paul grabbed her bare arm and pulled it into a position where he could see it better.
“Hey, what are you doing?” she demanded, trying to free her arm.
Paul stared down, horrified, at a line of faint bruises that were clearly made by someone’s fingers.
His fingers.
He let her arm drop loosely and stood frozen in place, slammed with waves of intense guilt and self-disgust. She was small and sick and vulnerable and young. And, in his anger, he had manhandled her violently enough to leave bruises.
Emily’s face reflected bewilderment, and she tried to look over her shoulder, down at whatever he’d seen on the back of her upper-arm.
She must have figured it out because she rolled her eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic. I just bruise easily.”
Paul didn’t respond. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life. He’d done a lot of things he wished he hadn’t. But he’d never believed himself to be the kind of man who would hurt a woman.
“Paul, I mean it,” she snapped, “You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t even know the bruises were there.” When he still didn’t answer, she added, “I shouldn’t have been running away.”
“So that means you deserved to be…to be…”
“To be what?” she demanded, “What exactly do you think you did to me? You grabbed me to keep me from getting in the cab, and you squeezed harder than you meant to. You didn’t assault me or anything.”
He wasn’t sure if he could allow himself to take comfort in her words. He’d been so angry on Friday night. When Tim had told him that his wife had somehow managed to get into the main parking deck of the building, he’d been swallowed up in a kind of panic, afraid she would get away, get hurt, get killed—and he would have utterly failed in his commitment to take care of her.
She’d just been half a block away, hailing a cab, when he made it outside. The look on her face—a kind of secret exhilaration—had snapped his control. How dare she look like that, when he’d felt so worried and helpless.
“Paul!” Emily’s sharp words broke through his bleak reflections. “You’re being ridiculous. If you’re not going to let me be ridiculous, then I’m not going to let you be ridiculous either. Do you really think I’d trust you if you’d hurt me? I let you take me skinny-dipping right afterwards! Would I have trusted you like that if you’d been…been what you’re thinking?”
Paul blinked, something in her words getting through to him. He cleared his throat. “Emily, I didn’t mean to—”
“I know you didn’t mean to! What the hell do you think I’m trying to tell you, you big dumbass?”
Paul had never been called a dumbass before. Not to his face, at least. Despite his relief at her words, he didn't really appreciate the name-calling.
They glared at each other for a minute, and then he saw her mouth tighten with irrepressible irony. He couldn’t help but half-smile back. “Okay. The only other thing I'll say is that it won’t happen again.”
“Good. And I won’t run away again. So we’re even.”
She seemed to think that resolved matters, so Paul had no choice but to give the subject up.
They drank more coffee and read the newspapers in companionable silence, until Paul’s phone rang a half-hour later.
He walked out of the kitchen as he took it, but when he returned he was quite pleased with himself. “I got your skydiving scheduled for Tuesday,” he told Emily, who’d glanced up at his return.
Her eyes widened. “So soon? I thought it would have to be later in the week.”
“I can reschedule if you want. I just thought you’d want to do it as soon as possible.”
“I do.” She swallowed visibly. “Thank you. And maybe it’s just as well that I don’t have so much time before it happens, so I can't work myself into a panic about it.”
Paul sat down with his newspaper again. "You'll do fine. It won't be nearly as frightening as you think."
"You're coming with me, aren't you?"
For as long as he’d known her, she’d always tried to act invulnerable—like the only person she could rely on was herself.
He wondered what he'd done to deserve the trust in her eyes. All he said was, "Of course."
***
Paul had gone skydiving for the first time when he’d been eighteen, and since then he’d logged over a hundred and fifty jumps.
For a couple of years, he’d been obsessed with it. He’d tried a number of other extreme sports—bungee jumping, caving, cliff diving, extreme skiing—but nothing had attracted him like skydiving.
He understood what most p
eople were looking for in such activities. He understood the compulsion of the challenge, the rush of adrenalin, the heady sense of defying limits.
Paul hadn’t taken up skydiving only for those reasons, though. He was sure a psychiatrist could analyze him and develop a complex theory about his adolescent rebellion against authority and his emotional insecurity—caused primarily by a tyrannical father who didn’t love him.
Looking back now, Paul could put it more simply. There was a moment, after the doors of the plane would opened, as he was poised above a blinding height and about to let go of anything secure, when he’d felt like he was going to die. That had been the point back then.
Paul had jumped out of a plane a hundred and fifty-two times in his life because he just hadn’t cared if he died.
His life had changed a lot since then, but as they took off for their jump on Tuesday, every detail of the experience was familiar. The vibrations of the plane, the loud roar of the engine, the throbbing pulse of his blood, the faint, bitter beginnings of adrenalin in his mouth, the weight of the gear on his back. It all felt the same as it used to.
Except now Paul had a wife who was sitting beside him.
And he didn’t really want to jump.
He was going to, of course. Jumping wasn’t that big a deal to him, and Emily was counting on him to be with her in this. Because of his training and experience, Paul was licensed to jump solo, although technically this was his recurrency jump and had to be done in the presence of an instructor.
There was absolutely nothing challenging to him about the jump today, but he wasn’t really having fun.
Emily was scared and trying not to show it. She was doing a pretty good job, but Paul could see her hands were trembling and her face was very pale.
She’d seemed excited this morning, and she’d enjoyed the instruction she’d gotten earlier, but, once they’d gotten into the plane, her very natural fear had caught up with her. Paul had been chatting with her casually in an attempt to distract her, telling her about some of the jumps he’d taken with Mike and Russ a few years back. She was trying to focus on what he told her and smiled or murmured at the right spots, but he could tell her nerves were making it hard for her to think about anything except the jump.
Paul had learned to skydive from Mike and Russ—the best instructors in the region. They worked out of a drop zone just outside of Philadelphia, and Paul had done most of his jumps with them. Naturally, he’d arranged to schedule Emily’s skydiving experience with them as well.
Russ was already hooked up to jump tandem with Emily. He was in his “zone,” as he called it—staring out at the sky and ignoring any and all attempts to talk to him. But Mike was making jokes, trying to help Emily relax, and he kept giving Paul amused, ironic glances.
Paul knew why.
Mike thought his old friend, who had once been as wild as they came, had gone soft and domestic, and he was getting a big kick out of that incongruity.
Paul was doing his best to ignore it.
“I couldn’t believe when I heard Paul was getting a job and settling down,” Mike said, grinning at Emily after a pause in conversation. “But, now that I see you, I finally understand his reasons.”
Paul rolled his eyes.
Mike was about thirty but still had a baby-face that he tried to hide with ever-present stubble. He slanted a taunting look at Paul. “Maybe if I settle down, I can find myself a pretty wife too.”
“Wouldn’t do any good,” Paul said. “None of the pretty girls would want you.”
Emily laughed at his comeback, but her laughter sounded a little forced. He scanned her face closely, noticing again how white she looked and hoping she was actually going to enjoy this.
When she saw him observing her, she murmured hoarsely, “I must have been insane to want to do this.”
“You’ll be fine. It’s just the first step off that seems so hard.”
She nodded a little jerkily. “Don’t let me chicken out at the last minute.”
“I won’t. I know you want to do this.” He didn’t say any more, since Mike and Russ were right there, but both he and Emily knew what he referred to.
When he saw her hands twisting restlessly together, the sight bothered him. Responding to an inexplicable compulsion, he reached over and covered them with one of his.
It was only intended to be a brief, supportive gesture—since he understood her nervousness and felt bad for her—but Emily clung to his hand with one of hers and wouldn’t let it go.
So, quite unintentionally, Paul ended up holding hands with her for the few minutes until the plane was in position.
Mike seemed to find the hand-holding hilarious, if his mocking looks were anything to go by. He no doubt believed that Paul was showing himself to be a clichéd, sentimental sap after all.
There was absolutely nothing Paul could do to clarify the matter. He couldn’t tell Mike the truth about his marriage, and he couldn’t even pull his hand away from Emily’s the way he wanted, since it seemed rather heartless to deny her the support she needed.
Paul, however, felt very awkward, sitting there and holding her hand as they waited to jump out of a plane. There was a strange clench in his chest that he didn’t like and didn't understand.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Mike went to open the door, letting in a familiar blast of wind. “Ready?” he asked with a broad grin.
Emily gave a little whimper, so soft Paul barely heard it, but she didn’t hesitate as she and Russ moved into position in their tandem gear. She gave Paul one last look over her shoulder.
He supposed he should have been able to think of something comforting and inspiring to say, but he couldn’t think of anything. So he just nodded and smiled. Said, “I’ll see you on the ground, and we can cross it off the list.”
She smiled back at him, and then she and Russ were jumping.
Paul stared at the open door of the plane where Emily had just disappeared. Now that he was no longer distracted by her, he felt the familiar, almost painful pounding of his blood.
Mike had been looking down at Russ and Emily and counting seconds since their jump, but now he looked up at Paul with a grin. “Still remember how to do this?”
Paul ignored that and moved into position.
“I’ll be right behind you. So, if you freak out, no worries. I’ll come and rescue you."
Paul gave that comment the sneer it deserved. Then he stared out into the vast emptiness of the sky, felt the blast of wind against his face, experienced the familiar dizzying sensation of being completely out of control, nothing to hold onto, on the edge of death.
He used to crave this feeling like a drug.
He jumped, realizing something had definitely changed. He had unfinished business in his life. He had real responsibilities. He had someone who depended only on him.
And he didn’t want to die anymore.
* * *
Paul stared at his computer screen and tried to focus on the email he was supposed to be writing. He was still experiencing the effects of the adrenalin rush from skydiving earlier in the day, however, and he just couldn’t seem to concentrate.
He was half-exhausted and half-wired, and neither feeling made it easy to work.
He was looking blankly at the screen, with unmoving hands poised over his keyboard, when he heard a tap on the door to his home office.
He spun the chair around and saw Emily peeking in. He couldn’t help but smile at how hesitant she looked, as if she were afraid he was hard at work instead of desperately trying to type out a single word. “What’s up?” he asked her, gesturing her to come in.
“Sorry to bother you,” she began, peering at his computer screen out of either curiosity or anxiety about disturbing his work.
“No bother. I was mostly just spinning my wheels. How are you feeling?”
“Great,” she said, beaming at him with that bright Emily-smile. She was wearing well-worn jeans and a casual, wine-red top that had a neckli
ne a little too low for his liking. “I still feel kind of buzzed. How long does it take to come down from the adrenalin?”
“It depends. But I guarantee, when you drop, you’ll know it.”
She laughed, and he could still see the lingering thrill from the jump in her eyes.
Emily had been out of her mind with excitement after skydiving. When he’d first seen her after they’d both reached the ground, she’d launched herself at him in the fiercest hug he’d ever received. She’d sustained the exhilarated high all the way home, demanding that Paul drive faster and that he switch his boring music to something much wilder and louder. Paul had run on the treadmill when they’d gotten home—since he knew exercise helped to even out his body chemistry—and Emily had taken his advice and gone for a swim, since she said rather heatedly that she hated running in place.
Since then, he didn’t know what she’d been doing.
“Anyway,” she continued, looking a little hesitant again, “I didn’t know if you were hungry or anything, but Ruth was nice enough to make me a lasagna to warm up, and it’s just about done. I didn’t know if you wanted to have dinner with me or just work or if you needed to go out or…whatever.”
Paul stared at Emily for a moment, wondering why she thought he might need to go out. It wasn’t like he was going to date other women while he was married to her, and there was little else that would pull him out on a random Tuesday night.
“You don’t have to,” she added hurriedly, when he didn’t immediately answer. “Ruth made it for me to be nice, since I was telling her it was my favorite when I was younger.”
“I’ll join you, if you don’t mind. I usually just lose track of time and end up grabbing something before bed.”
“That’s a terrible habit,” she chided, as they left the office and walked together toward the kitchen. “And how can you forget about dinner?”
The truth was Paul was usually alone, and so he’d gotten out of the habit of keeping a normal schedule. He would eat something at the computer or standing in the kitchen. Until he’d married Emily, he’d almost never sat down at home just to eat.
Listed: Volume II Page 2
