"After two hours of that, I need coffee," Hetty commented. "How about you, Annie, Clay?"
"Decaf for me" Clay said, before Annie could refuse.
"Me, too." She'd rather be alone with Clay, than share him with Hetty and Frank. Maybe later.
They took their drinks out onto the small front porch and sat in the darkness. "This is some family," Frank said. "There have been so many divorces in mine that something like this wouldn't be possible. Hell, I'm not even sure any more where some of them are."
"It'll never happen in mine either, but because there are so few of us," Clay said. "It must be wonderful, growing up in a big, close family."
"It has its points," Hetty agreed, "but believe me, they're not always positive ones."
"Everyone minds your business," Annie said. "Take one wrong step and wham! Gaggles of aunts and cousins are on your neck." She snuggled closer against Clay. "Of course, the same thing happens when you have problems. There's always someone to turn to."
Saying those words made her realize just how true they were. Sure, Clay had helped her over the last of her healing by showing her the peace she could find in the river. But she'd have never made it through this past year without the Families. Just knowing they were there, even though she'd all but rejected them by running away to Boise, had kept her from giving up, from smothering herself in grief and guilt. She admitted, finally, that she'd shut her family out for far too long.
"Too bad you didn't remember that lately," Hetty said, as if to rub salt into an open sore.
How could she know what I was thinking. Is it so obvious? "No, I didn't. I won't make that mistake again. This past year would have been a lot less painful if I had yelled for help, instead of locking all my troubles inside. I was getting better, but still couldn't forgive myself." She smiled at Clay, squeezed his hand. "Then this crazy fisherman taught me how to find a way out of my self-imposed cycle of guilt and blame. "
"Hey! All I did was teach you to fish," he protested, moved at her giving him the credit.
"All you did," she contradicted, "was to teach me where to find peace of mind. Thank you, Clay. Thank you so much." She kissed him lightly.
"The whole family thanks you," Hetty said, but her smile softened her words. "Annie was becoming an awful drip. Come on, Frank, let's hit the sack. We've got a long drive tomorrow." She pulled Frank to his feet and they departed.
"I like Hetty," Clay said, "and Frank's an interesting fellow."
"So are you," Annie told him. "And I meant what I said about being grateful to you. Something happened to me, out there on the river, that made all the difference. I feel like I can take anything the world throws me and live through it, now. I didn't before." She turned, slipped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Clay, you've become so important to me. I hate the thought of leaving you tomorrow."
Clay kissed her lightly. She imagined she felt him restraining his desire, his need to engulf her in his arms, to kiss her deeply.
She felt his chest expand as he took in a deep breath. Felt it flutter her hair as he let it out in a gusty sigh.
"I'm not too fond of the idea myself," he said. easing her arms from him. "But If we're going to get up anytime before noon tomorrow, it's time to call it a day. Can you fish in the morning?"
"I shouldn't," she said with regret. Wait a minute. This is the new Annie. "Yes, as long as we do it really early. I don't have to be on the road until noon or so, but I do still have to pack." She let Clay pull her to her feet. They strolled across the lawn, hand in hand. There was so much she wanted to say to him. If only he weren't so damned noble.
I hope he's being noble. I couldn't bear it if what I feel was all one-sided.
His pickup was parked by the Big House. He paused, his hand on the door handle. "Why don't I meet you at the fishing access about five-thirty?" he said, as he took Annie into his arms. She raised her face, but forced herself to wait passively. He kissed her deeply this time, his tongue gently exploring her mouth, lightly sparring with hers.
Annie leaned into his kiss, her hands stroking his broad back. When he would have pulled away, she clung to him, sliding her hands down to cup his buttocks. "I wish you didn't have to leave me," she whispered, moving her hips against him suggestively, tempting his awakening manhood.
He lifted his head and looked down at her. In the deep shadows cast by the yard light, she couldn't make out his expression. "I wish we had more time. There's something between us, but it's still new. It needs time, and that's what we don't have. If only--" He dipped his head and kissed her again, quick and hard, before stepping back and releasing her. Before she'd had a chance to draw even one breath, he was inside the pickup, looking down at her from the window.
"Tomorrow morning,"
"I'll be there," she promised.
Chapter Twenty-five
Sunday
"Dad, can I talk to you?"
Ben nearly dropped the coffee carafe. It was not yet dawn, far too early to expect anyone else to be around. "Sure. Just let me get this started." He filled the carafe, poured it into the reservoir, flipped the switch. Did I remember to put in the coffee? Yes, he had. "Okay, son, shoot."
Eric moved the napkin holder to the side of the counter, lined the salt and pepper shakers up next to the butter dish, and picked up a crumb with the tip of his forefinger. "It's Evan."
Ben slid onto a stool at the counter. "What about Evan."
"Is he really...uh...gay?" Now the trivet sat precisely in line with the butter dish.
"Yes. I thought you knew. He hasn't exactly kept it a secret."
Eric opened and closed his mouth several times.
Ben waited, wishing he were anywhere else. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.
"Don't you think you should have warned us?" Eric's tone made the words half a plea, half an accusation. "I mean, you knew, and you didn't tell us before you put him in the Blue House with...with all those little boys."
"Christ, Eric! Are you crazy? Evan? Defender-of-the-underdog-Evan? The kid who followed every rule. Hell, you used to complain because he was too damned perfect."
"That was before--"
"The hell it was. He might not have realized what he was then, but it's not something that happened to him overnight. Evan's gay. He was almost certainly born that way."
The coffeemaker gave its last gurgle. Ben welcomed the sound because it gave him a chance to step back and think about what to say. He pulled out two cups, filled them, and held one out to Eric.
"No thanks, Dad. You know I don't drink coffee any more."
He'd forgotten. Ben lifted his own cup to his lips, inhaled the aromatic steam. He eyed his elder son over the rim. Shit!
"Eric," he said after a moment's reflection, "I respect your beliefs and I admire you for living your faith. You're a good father and, I presume, a good husband. You're everything a parent would want a child to become. Except for one thing."
Eric's lips had widened in a smile. "What's that?"
"You've become a sanctimonious prig." Ben took a big swig of his coffee, mostly to keep himself from saying any more.
"Da-a-a-d!"
He sounded exactly as he had when he was five or six. Ben's throat tightened at the memory of how Eric had been so protective of his little brother. How he'd rarely complained about the way Evan followed him everywhere. Even in high school the two boys had been virtually inseparable, despite the nearly three years difference in their ages. He'd always counted their closeness a particular blessing, considering the sibling rivalry he saw frequently in his classrooms. "Sit down," he said, weary already and the day was scarce begun.
"No, I can't. I've got to get back. What I really came over to say..." Eric's hands covered his face, his fingers speared into his hair. "Dad, Jennifer's really upset. She doesn't want Evan anywhere near the boys. So I don't know what we'll do about Christmas..."
The weariness became a terrible weight upon his soul. Ben couldn't think of a thing to say, couldn't think
of a way to close this sudden chasm. He shook his head. "Do what you have to, Eric. Your first loyalty is to your wife and children."
Eric just stared at him for a long time. At last he said, "Yeah, I know." His shoulders slumped and he turned away. At the door he paused. Without turning around, he said, "I'm sorry, Dad. So...sorry." As if every step was an effort, he crossed the sun porch and went down the back steps. The morning twilight swallowed him.
So am I. Ben blinked several times, in a futile attempt to hold back tears.
* * * *
When the alarm under her pillow began its insistent beeping, Annie almost shut it off. She brought it close enough to read the time and wondered if she'd somehow set it wrong. The lines of light between the closed miniblinds were gray, not the pale, soft gold she'd expected for this time of morning. She rolled out and went to the window. A finger between the slats showed the reason for the dark. Raindrops raced each other down the glass. She could see the tops of the nearby trees swaying in the wind.
"Pooh. I can't imagine any self-respecting fisherperson to go out in this." She got dressed anyway. Her suitcase was packed, and naturally her raingear was on the bottom. She'd never taken it out. While she was digging for it, Gran turned over.
"Annie? Are you going fishing this morning?"
"I doubt it," she whispered back. "It's raining. But I'm going down to meet Clay, just in case."
"Well, whatever you do, can you be back by ten? I want to talk to you and your mother."
Mystified, but not particularly surprised, she nodded. Gran was always wanting to talk to someone about something at the last minute. Nobody started for home without last words of advice from her. She managed to pull her rain parka from the case without making too much of a mess. "I'll see you later."
The house was silent as she tiptoed through the kitchen. The coffee maker called to her, but she didn't want to bother this morning. Maybe she could persuade Clay to go into Island Park for breakfast. They might as well take advantage of their last few hours together.
Maybe you should persuade him to take you to his trailer. Anything could happen there.
"Not yet," she told herself as she climbed into her car. "He's right. The timing's all wrong. Who knows if we'll ever see each other again?"
Clay's pickup was at the fishing access parking lot and he was inside it. When she drove in, he flashed his headlights, then turned on his dome light. She interpreted the light as an invitation.
She climbed in and pulled the door shut. The cab was warm and dark, comfortably intimate. "Do fish bite in the rain?"
"If you've used the right lure. But I didn't figure you'd want to learn the joys of fishing in the rain." His teeth flashed white in the shadowy light. "The café was just opening as I came by. Are you interested in breakfast?"
"Sure. I haven't even had coffee this morning."
He started the engine. "Neither have I."
As he guided the pickup out into the road, she watched his face, now barely illuminated by the dash lights. His jaw was set and his brows lowered.
"Clay? What's wrong?"
He didn't answer until they were on the highway. "Is there any way you can stay longer?"
"I wish." She watched the wipers, not sure what else to say. Swish, swish, pause...swish, swish, pause...
"I suppose I could come over to Boise--" He said it like it was about the last thing he wanted to do.
"No, don't do that. Not this summer, anyhow. I think--" She closed her mouth on her thoughts because he'd turned into the café's parking lot. "Coffee first."
"Right." He started around to open her door, but she was already sliding out.
The café was already mostly full, but they got a small booth near the back. A good thing, because it was one of the few quiet places in the café. At least they wouldn't have to shout at each other. She hid behind the menu until the waitress came to take their orders.
"I've got to be home by ten," she said, when they were alone again.
"No problem." He stirred his coffee, even though he'd put nothing into it. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"I'm thinking I need more time before I make any major decisions about my life. Not to heal--I think I've done the biggest part of that, and the rest will come naturally. This week--" She took a deep breath. "Clay, am I wrong in assuming you might like more than a one night stand?"
For the first time since they'd sat down, he looked her straight in the eye. "I think so." He exhaled, a gusty sigh. "Hell, that sounds like a copout, doesn't it?"
She had to laugh, even if she didn't think his question particularly funny. "Yes, but I know how you feel. I want you." Butterflies swarmed in her belly when his expression went from rueful to hungry. "I want you, but--" The words eluded her and she shrugged.
As they stared at each other, both silent, she wondered why she was so reluctant to take the last step with Clay. She'd been feeling twinges of desire, unfocussed and elusive, for a while now. They had come as a relief, because she'd felt nothing sexual for a long time, had wondered if she ever would again. Then she'd met Clay and the twinges acquired a target, became focused. It hadn't taken long for desire to become demanding, distracting her while awake, invading her dreams, until thoughts of Clay intruded on all she did.
The waitress set bottles of ketchup and hot sauce on their table as she passed. Clay pushed them aside. "Do you write? Letters, I mean?"
She moved her coffee mug when the waitress returned, carrying two big platters. "I'd rather do email. Good grief, I'd forgotten how much food you get here."
He picked up his fork. "Look at the bright side. You won't need to eat lunch."
As if by mutual assent, they dug into their food, limiting their conversation to moans of pleasure, the occasional "Yum!" and "Pass the ketchup."
Clay swabbed up the last of the golden yolk with a toasty crust. "I won't have a computer until sometime in September. Will you write?"
She heard a plea in his tone. "Of course. Often." She pushed her plate aside, unable to finish her hashbrowns, leaving a slice of crisp toast untouched. "I won't promise every day, but I'll make sure I send you something at least once a week. You'll probably be bored, though. My life is anything but exciting."
He reached across and took her hand. "You don't have to amuse me. I want to get to know you, Annie. To know who you are when you're not on vacation, when you're living an ordinary life, not surrounded by family. The trouble with summer romances is that the people involved in them aren't who they really are. And that's who we need to get acquainted with. We need to see if those two people fit together as well as we have this week."
His hand was warm and strong, wrapped around hers. Annie clung to it. "That's pretty scary, Clay, when you consider that we're both in transition. You're starting a whole new life. I'm trying to put mine back together." Scary indeed. So scary that she blurted, "Maybe we ought to forget the whole thing."
"Or maybe we just need to be patient." He released her hand. "Look at that line. Let's let some hungry people have this table."
Back in the pickup, she resisted the urge to babble just to break the silence. If she'd opened her mouth, she would have pled for him to take her to his trailer, to make love to her. Just this one time. In case they never saw each other again. How could she bear to lose him now, when she'd only seen a glimmer of what they might have together?
Just a glimmer. Not a promise.
When he turned south, she knew where he was taking her. It was just past eight o'clock.
"Well..." he said when he'd pulled his pickup to a stop beside her car.
"You'll need my address." Annie dug in her purse. She found a dog-eared business card from her insurance agent, scribbled her address on the back. "What's yours."
"I don't have one yet. Not locally. I'll have to--"
She couldn't bear this one moment longer. "Here. If you decide to write to me, I'll know where to reply. I've got to go." Jumping to the ground, she stabbed her key into the lock o
n her car's door. It was a wonder she could see the slot, through her tears.
As she skidded to a stop at the highway, she looked into her sidemount mirror. He hadn't moved, hadn't started his engine. Only when she was approaching the compound did she happen to look back and see his red pickup turn onto the highway.
* * * *
The usual confusion reigned in the cookshack as everyone gathered up their scattered possessions and sorted out the children's toys. Cecile sat at the back table, sipping coffee and feeling relieved that she had no one to worry about but herself. One of the best things about having the property management firm deal with the houses was that they didn't have to clean before they left. She remembered how the last day used to be, before the old house had been torn down. The two families and all their children had crammed themselves into four small bedrooms and counted themselves lucky that they had such a nice vacation home..
"Smartest thing we ever did was remodel the old barn," she mused aloud.
"Talking to yourself again, Ma?" Ward slid in beside her. "Isn't that a sign of senility?"
"Not at all. It's what one does when one wants intelligent conversation."
"Of course. I should have known."
"You look extremely pleased with yourself, this morning. Did you hear from Mr. Champion?"
"I did, yes. He's agreed to see Hildy." His brows came together in a fierce frown. "I sure hope this isn't a mistake. He says he refused to see her before because he doesn't want her memories to be of him as he is now. Maybe he's right."
"Perhaps. But I believe she'll find it far easier to deal with his death if she can say goodbye to him. Have you told her?" Cecile worried about Ser--Hildy's reaction to seeing her stepfather's condition more than she would admit. There was no doubt in her mind, however, that they were doing the right thing. It would be the first step in closure for the child.
"Not yet. I talked to Ben, though. He'll drive you back to Portland. I'll turn the car in at the airport."
Wade stood and waved. "Hildy? Over here."
A Strange Little Band Page 26
