She stepped off the swing and gave it a little push. Without her weight it squeaked on each return swing. "Okay, we are talking about me. I don't have Nicole's confidence," she admitted. Jane Fonda doesn't have that kind of confidence, she thought with a rueful smile.
"That's crazy," he said, amazed. "You're beautiful, smart, quick-witted, fresh, incorruptible... . I can go on like this for a long time," he said, cradling her chin in his hand.
She felt his warm breath on her cheek, heard the heat in his voice. It would have been so easy to drift, spellbound, into his embrace. Yet it was important to her that he understand once and for all that she was not Nicole. She pulled away and threw her shoulders back, as if the chips on them were golden epaulets. "I think you should know that I really am not a graceful loser. And that I like to do things my own way. And that I don't like being pushed or cajoled. Into anything."
His hand slid around to the back of her neck, his arm slipped around her waist. "I would never push you into anything, Emily," he murmured, nuzzling the nape of her neck. "But I reserve the right to cajole."
He lifted his head and brought his mouth on hers in a long, tonguing kiss of liquefying heat. Maybe it was the night, the stars, the honeysuckle; maybe it was the creaking swing or the cry of an owl nearby. Whether it was one thing or all of them together, Emily never, ever forgot that kiss. It was the kind of kiss that both dreams and memories are made of.
When he released her, he said, "I'll come to your room."
She answered simply, "Yes."
Chapter 16
By midnight the neighbors had gone, the dishes were done, and all the lights were out. Emily stood at the window of her darkened room, staring out at the green and red running lights of ships steaming silently on the sound. Her thoughts were a dim haze of expectations, hardly thoughts at all.
She wanted Lee so much. Sometime in the next little while he would steal into her room and take her in his arms and they would make love. She'd been waiting for this, she realized, since the last time he'd taken her in his arms. And after tonight she would begin to wait for the next time. The thought that she might spend most of the rest of her life waiting filled her with a kind of melancholy panic. She was no longer a whole person; there was a continuing, aching void in her that only Lee Alden could fill.
She sighed deeply. Okay. He's the cream in my coffee. Now what? It wasn't as though she had a future with him. It wasn't as though he'd ever said he cared. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying hard not to care in return.
She wandered over to the nightstand and picked up the ancient tick-tocking clock: one-fifteen. There was a small television on the bureau; she considered turning it on, then rejected the idea as too jarring to her strange and pensive mood. She walked back to the window and let herself become mesmerized by the hypnotic sweep of white light flashing from the lighthouse on Nobska Point across the sound. When the soft rap on the door finally came, Emily stayed where she was, paralyzed by conflicting desires. She heard the door open, and then Lee was behind her, slipping his arms around her, looking over her shoulder at the nighttime traffic on the sea beyond.
"When I was a boy, all I ever wanted to be was a tugboat captain," he murmured, rubbing his cheek on the top of her hair. "It seemed like the perfect life: absolute freedom, my own command, union pay." He laughed ruefully. "I wonder where I went wrong."
"You still get Union pay," she quipped, suddenly, irrationally happy now that he was with her.
"Yeah, but look at the state of the Union; I feel guilty taking money from it." He nuzzled the inside curve of her shoulder, leaving zigzag trails of heat along her bare skin.
"Your conscience should be clear," she said, drawing in her breath, forgetting to let it out. "You voted against your last pay raise."
"Uh-oh . . . an informed constituent," he said with a smile buried low in his voice. "Then you know I voted for an increase in your taxes." He began to drop light, skimming kisses on the back of her neck.
"Oh-h-h . . . yes . . . taxes . . ." she murmured, Playing along with their teasing chatter, relishing the delay. "They say . . . nothing's . . . more certain than—"
"-- an end to this," he said in a husky voice, turning her around and kissing her hard.
Emily's senses were white hot. She'd been waiting for hours, quietly smoldering. In two short minutes Lee had fanned those embers into flames. Whether this kind of fire could cleanse and purify, she had no idea. It almost didn't matter; she had no control over it anyway. She let herself be led to the bed. She let him remove her thin gown. She watched by moonlight as he stripped himself of the slacks and loose shirt he wore. And then, at last, he was in bed with her and his kisses, flame hot, were licking at the edge of her consciousness, threatening meltdown.
"Ah, Lee ... more ..." she cried in a low moan, knowing full well that she couldn't take much more.
"Emily ... Emily ... dearest ..." Lee was murmuring, his voice low with desire, "Emily, I think I'm fall –- "
"Nobody beats Midas! Nobody! Come in tomorrow and save!"
The television was on at full volume, sending Emily's heart pitching through her lungs and Lee rocketing from the bed toward the bureau. He slammed the on-off toggle with his open palm, then switched on the small lamp that stood alongside the set. Wide- eyed, he turned to Emily and whispered, "Good God, we probably woke up half the house!" He picked up the six-inch television by its handle and wiggled it. "What the hell?"
Emily jumped out of bed and threw Lee's pants at him. "Get dressed. Quick!" she cried, perfectly aware of what was happening. "Every set in the house is on!" Damn Fergus! Damn him, damn him, damn him!
"What're you talking about? Why would -- " Lee cocked his ear toward the door. "Sweet jeezuz. You're right."
Above the wail of wakened children they heard several different television programs blaring defiantly. The din was shocking, a horrible, illogical intrusion into the peacefully sleeping house. Emily pulled a T-shirt over a pair of shorts and ran out into the living room, where a color set she hadn't even noticed before was featuring late-night bowling. She rushed to the set and turned it off, watching frantically for other signs of Fergus. If he was capable of such a mean, low deed, he might be capable of much worse.
One by one she heard the other televisions in the house silenced, until there was nothing left but the sleepy whines and whimpers of the youngest children. Grace and Hildie were in the bedrooms, soothing and reassuring them. She had no idea where Lee was. There was nothing left for her to do, so she headed back to her room. Whatever her mood had been, it was decidedly foul now. When Mrs. Alden confronted her in the hail, Emily was hard pressed to sound civil.
"What on earth is going on?" Lee's mother wanted to know.
"What was on your TV—Dobie Gillis or Cosby reruns?" Emily asked tersely. Her nerves were completely exposed and raw; at any other time she would have been appalled by her manners.
"There's no television in my room," Mrs. Alden answered, taken aback. "What's happened?" she repeated, gripping Emily's arm. In her pale robe, with her hair unpinned, the elderly woman looked smaller and more fragile somehow. And frightened.
"You needn't worry, Mrs. Alden," Emily answered, forcing herself to calm down. "It's nothing. It was some kind of ... of power surge, probably. The televisions all malfunctioned."
"Malfunctioned? I never heard of such a thing."
"It's the newer, more electronic ones that do it. Mine at home goes on and off by itself all the time," she said without irony.
"It sounds quite bizarre," Lee's mother said, keeping one ear cocked for danger. Emily continued to stand in the dim hall, smiling inanely, until Mrs. Alden pronounced herself reassured. "Everything seems to have settled down," she whispered at last.
Emily said good night again, but Mrs. Alden seemed to hesitate. "I suppose you think I'm a nervous Nellie," she said. Before Emily could answer, she added, "I'm not. But once, right after Lee was first elected, we had some trouble here. A madman -- Lee
called him a disenchanted voter -- broke into this place and vandalized it. He did terrible things, truly vicious things.... Fortunately the house was closed up for the season. But what if the children had been here with only their mothers?"
Mrs. Alden clearly did not expect an answer to her question. She shook her head and smiled sadly, then switched on another wall sconce. "Good night, Emily," she said, and slipped back into her room.
Emily made a decision. She could not stay in the house. The only safe thing was to pack and leave. Immediately. Before Fergus got any other bright ideas. She changed quickly into street clothes and packed her few things into her canvas bag. She was on the telephone trying unsuccessfully to arrange for a ride when Lee knocked and came immediately in.
"Thank you anyway," Emily said, and hung up.
Lee stared at the newly made bed and her packed bag. "What's going on?"
"I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know where you were." It was the best she could do for an explanation.
"I was taking a quick look around outside. Tell me what?"
"I have to go," she said, lifting her bag from the bed and moving quickly as if she had a plan.
Lee was dumbfounded. "Go where? Why? How?" Automatically his hand reached out for the handle of her bag, to stop her. His uncombed hair, drooping in sandy curls over his forehead, made him look impossibly young and naïve. Yet the look in his eyes, blue and steel, was anything but.
She could see that they had reached a crisis point, but there was no turning back. "I've got to get out of this house, for your sake. For all your sakes." She tried to wrench her bag from his grip, but he held on.
"Emily! What's the matter with you?" he said, keeping his voice an undertone. Clearly he didn't want to start another uproar.
She looked away, as if she were being forced to tell him his dog had just been run over. "Don't you understand about the televisions?"
"To be honest, no. Maybe it's the cable hookup."
"Fergus turned them on!" she said impatiently, angry that he refused to see the obvious.
"Oh, not Fergus again," he said wearily, loosening his grip. He walked away from her, running his fingers through his hair, and paused in front of his beloved view of the sound. "What is it with this phantasm -- this, this fantasy of yours? You're like a kid with a guardian angel -- "
"Trust me. Fergus is no angel."
"All right, then," he said, turning around and giving her an even look. "An imaginary playmate. That's okay when you're young and wishing you had a sister, but --"
"How stupid do you think I am?" she asked, her voice rising. He made a shushing motion, and she dropped into a controlled hiss. "If I were making him up, I'd have made him a her. What the hell good is another man in my life?"
"He's not a man; he's a figment!"
"That figment scared your family half to death!"
"Come on, Emily. My nieces will survive the Home Shopping Network."
"Don't do that, Lee," she warned. "Don't treat this like a joke."
He sighed in frustration and tried another tack. "Why would he want to scare little kids?"
"He's not really interested in scaring anyone. He just wants to distract you."
"From?" Lee cocked his head and gave her a slant-eyed, quizzical look. "This Fergus ... this ghost ... is jealous of us together?"
Emily blushed deeply. "I think so. It never would've occurred to me until last night, but the way he looked . . . the things he said . . . yes," she said, her voice dropping to a bare whisper. "I think so."
"Well," Lee said, totally at a loss. He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning his forearms on his thighs the way he had at the séance. It was as if he were straining to see something that wasn't there. He was so obviously willing to see it, but he was so obviously unable to do it. "So Fergus is still in the picture. Somehow, on the ferry, I had the idea that was all over."
"That was my fault. I misled you."
He looked up at her sharply. "Why?"
She was standing next to him, still holding her canvas bag, poised for flight. "Because I thought you wanted to be misled," she admitted. "You weren't exactly thrilled the first time I trotted Fergus out. On the other hand, you sure looked relieved when I said it was over."
He stood up then and took her by the upper arms. His look was intense, searching. "How long did you think you could keep him a secret from me?"
She smiled lamely. "Since you can't see him -- for as long as it took."
"Took to solve the crime, you mean." He nodded to himself, as if it all were becoming clearer. "Son of a bitch," he said softly.
He let go of her arms after a gentle, absent-minded rub and began to pace the room. Immediately he stopped. "I take it that you've been investigating the murder, then, and not the Newarth economy. So. How's it going? Got your man yet?" He seemed to be listening to himself with amazement. "Son of a bitch," he repeated, shaking his head.
Emily shrugged. "It's going okay. I have a couple of leads." He didn't look fully focused, so she didn't bother going into details. As for the fire, she had no intention of bringing it up; one blistering lecture was enough.
"So. He's back," Lee repeated, staring at the floor. "And he's, what, in love with you now, is that it?"
"I didn't say that," she said quickly, coloring a little. "I think he's maybe just jealous of your, well, physicality. He misses sex the way he misses beer and roses."
Lee cocked one eyebrow at Emily. "He treats them all the same?"
"I have no idea," she answered coolly. "It's only a theory."
"What's he like, this Fergus of yours?" Lee asked after a moment. "What kind of man is – was -- he?"
Surprised by the thoughtfulness of the question, Emily said, "I think he's hopelessly confused by modern morals --"
"Who isn't?" Lee asked with a soft laugh.
"But I think at bottom he was a good man, caring and sensitive. He was a man of his time, of course; I think he saw women in terms of saints or sinners. But he was the kind of man who loves women, and that's the kind of man women love."
Lee ambled toward her, hands in his pockets. "And what kind of man," he asked, his eyes lit with quiet curiosity, "am I?"
She knew that it wasn't arrogance behind the question. He simply wanted to know, the way he'd want to know the type of sparrow if she pointed one out. She lifted her canvas bag to her breast like a shield and wrapped her arms around it.
"You're the kind of man that women love," she said softly, "and that's the kind of man women fear."
He smiled in self-conscious confusion. "Do you have to go to graduate school to understand this stuff?"
That was the thing about him, the frosting on his cake; he simply had no idea how overwhelming he was. Even now, if he took her in his arms, she'd melt like butter in a microwave. She stiffened her resolve by taking one step back as he approached her. It was absolutely time to leave.
Her tiny but determined retreat did not escape him. The light in his eyes seemed to go out and he said, "I don't ever want to see fear in your eyes, Emily -- for any reason." She saw the muscles in his jaw working as he said, "If it's your wish, I'll take you into town." He held out his hand to take her bag, and she yielded it.
Lee made a quick call, and they left the house in a whisper and got into a tiny Civic, which Lee explained was the only car that would fit in the tiny downtown.
"Please don't apologize for the car, Lee; I'm very grateful that you're humoring me," Emily said. All the while she was expecting Fergus, wherever he was, to burst out in a Honda commercial.
The trip to town was hideously brief. They said very little, and none of it was about Fergus. Lee was obviously at a loss over how to deal with the whole mess. Emily's heart was disintegrating, like a mound of ashes in a stiff wind.
Here we go again, and it's Fergus's fault. Again. She sighed heavily as Lee pulled up in front of a small guest cottage not far from the ferry landing where the two had parted that morning.
"There's a
side entrance; at the top of the landing there'll be a small room with the light on. You'll have to share the bath with two others on the floor, but at this hour that shouldn't be a problem," Lee said in a voice drained of emotion.
"Thank you -- for everything," Emily said, in tones equally exhausted. She had her hand on the door handle when she remembered: "The interview!"
"Oh, hell." He snorted derisively. "Well? It's up to you." He stared straight ahead.
"I -- I'd like to be heroic and pass, but I can't afford to, Lee. Can you still make our original time and place?"
"Sure," he said through clenched teeth. "No problem."
She swung the door open, but she could not make herself step out of the car, not without some explanation. "If I seemed deluded before, I must seem downright pathetic to you now that I've added a sex angle to this little 'fantasy' of mine. What can I say? He's real. I'm not making him up. But you'd have to have the faith of an apostle to believe me. I know that. Which is why I lied to you on the ferry."
She saw him nod in the darkness. This was new, this cold, hard remoteness. It was understandable; but she was hoping for more. She was hoping for the blind faith that comes from love.
And it just wasn't there. "Good night, Lee," she said, disheartened, and left him.
Chapter 17
The following morning Emily took the first ferry out of Vineyard Haven. The short trip back to Woods Hole was made under leaden skies that did nothing to dispel her continuing melancholy. It didn't help that Fergus still was not showing himself. He's probably afraid to come out, she told herself grimly.
It was almost laughable. She'd managed to drive a full-fledged ghost into hiding and to turn a warm, loving family man into a block of ice. I was right in the first place. I don't belong in relationships. When and if this comic opera ends, I shall retire to a mountainside and devote myself to the study of Zen Buddhism.
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