Disturbing the Peace (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  Every inch of her felt supercharged and tingly. She was vividly aware of the rough feel of wet denim as their legs tangled together in the soap bubbles. She felt the exact shape and breadth of his chest, the finely toned muscles on either side of an enticing valley smack dab over his heart. His square jaw with just a hint of beard impressed itself upon her memory.

  As his kisses seared through her, she was acutely conscious of her surroundings—the hard concrete floor, the slick soap bubbles, the chugging of the washing machines, the constant whirring of her robot. She wanted time to stand still. She wanted to hold on to this moment in this steamy basement. She wanted to wrap the iridescent bubbles around them, insulating them from the outside world.

  As she clung to Todd, Amy knew her passion was for this moment and this man. The sheer force of her feelings stunned her. Memories couldn’t compete with present reality, and present reality had gone beyond “just one kiss.”

  She removed her arms from around Todd’s neck. She knew that continuing would be foolhardy, continuing would mean endangering her memories.

  “The soap,” she managed to say.

  “Yes. The soap.” Todd leaned down and kissed away the last bubble from her face. “I think it should have its own national holiday, like Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July.” He was still lying atop her as if he never intended to move.

  Not that she wanted him to. But now that the kissing had stopped, her common sense was returning. “Something has to be done,” she said.

  “I agree. Can you tell your robot to add more soap to the machines? We’re running out of bubbles.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I am too. As long as we have bubbles, I can continue kissing you on the grounds of temporary soap insanity.”

  The way he said it, with his eyebrows quirked upward and a teasing smile, made her laugh. And as long as she could laugh, she knew that she was in no danger from passions gone out of control.

  “You crazy judge. I’m sentencing you to thirty minutes at the business end of a mop.”

  He stood up, pulling her with him. “A small price to pay for my crime. Lead me to the mop.” He held her hand tightly as they walked to a utility closet. “Careful, Amy. I won’t be responsible for my actions if we fall into the soap again.”

  His smile was so charming that she ignored the import of his words.

  “In that case, your honor, I’ll make sure you’re not around when I do laundry.”

  “I thought you did it on whim.”

  She opened the closet and handed him a mop and a bucket. “How can a woman change her mind if a stuffy old judge is going to hold her to every remark she makes?”

  His hand closed over hers on the mop handle, and he seemed in no hurry at all to move along to the cleaning up.

  In fact, Todd was thoroughly enjoying the moment. He savored Amy’s pert little face, and then his gaze raked her from head to toe, admiring her curves, clearly outlined by her wet clothes.

  “Stuffy old judges aren’t that hard to handle,” he said. “Especially by women with China doll eyes.” And bodies made in heaven, he added to himself.

  Amy’s breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him. It was impossible not to see the light in his eyes, impossible not to feel the intensity of his thoughts. She tried to dredge up memories of Tim, but he was only a vague shadow. Without a clear picture of the past, she felt like a soldier going to battle unarmored.

  Suddenly Todd was laughing, a deep-throated boom that drowned out even the loud clanging of the washing machines.

  “Do that again,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Squeeze your eyes shut like that. You look exactly like a naughty child who’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t do.”

  She pulled her hand away from his and stepped back a pace. It helped, but not much. Being six inches away from him instead of three didn’t diminish his charm at all.

  “How many naughty children do you know?” she asked.

  “Plenty. I have three brothers who were the naughtiest kids on the block.”

  She laughed. “And I suppose you were an angel?”

  “Absolutely. I never did anything more than mastermind our wicked deeds and then stand back to watch my brothers take the punishment when they got caught.”

  She took another mop from the closet, and they started swabbing the puddles of soapy water off the floor. When the little robot whirled by, she reached over to switch him off.

  “I would have sought revenge if I had been your brothers,” she said.

  “They did. One of my plots involved stealing one of Grandma’s zinc tubs and turning it into a boat. We rigged a fine sail with one of Grandpa’s union suits.”

  “A union suit!”

  “Yes. That was Jeff’s idea. The suit was red, and he said if we got into trouble out on the Chesapeake Bay, the flag could be seen.”

  Amy was so enchanted with the story that she forgot to mop. What would it have been like to have siblings?

  “I wish I could have seen that boat,” she said.

  “I still remember it as one of the finest boats that ever sailed the Chesapeake. We spent all afternoon in the Bay. I think we discovered three new countries, located a couple of buried treasures, and whipped a band of pirates who had come to attack Baltimore.”

  Todd mopped vigorously as he talked. Suddenly, he stopped and looked at Amy. “Hey, you’re not mopping. Whose soap is this anyhow?”

  “Mine.” She started mopping up a puddle. “You’re such a good storyteller, I forgot everything except listening. Go ahead. Tell me what happened next.”

  “You just can’t wait to hear about the revenge, can you?”

  “No. I have a bloodthirsty streak. It comes from living with a mystery writer.”

  “Late in the afternoon Jeff sneaked back to the house and asked Grandpa if he could borrow his red union suit. Of course, Grandpa started looking, and Jeff had planted a trail that led straight to me. Mike and Wayne were in on the plan. As soon as Jeff left, they had sent me out in the boat on a secret mission.”

  “What was the secret mission?”

  “They said they had spotted an Indian princess who needed rescuing from pirates. I was to attack by water, and they were to attack by land. They never carried out their part. They were hiding in the bushes when Grandpa spotted his union suit flying above my washtub boat.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Grandpa always made the punishment fit the crime. He said that since I was so enamored with boats, I could clean and polish his fishing boat.”

  “I suppose your brothers stood back and gloated?”

  “No. They helped me. I pretended to be having so much fun that they naturally begged to pitch in. As a matter of fact, the four of us did have fun. Still do.”

  The storytelling had made their chores fun. Amy squeezed the last bit of water into the bucket and surveyed the clean basement floor. “I’m almost sorry there are no more bubbles.”

  “So am I.” Todd gave her a wicked grin.

  Amy blushed. To cover her confusion, she walked over to her robot and bent to inspect him. “Poor Herman. I’ll have to attend to his wet feet.”

  “Amy.” The way Todd said her name, with an edge of command in his voice, made her turn around. “I don’t want to leave our relationship to chance. I don’t want to depend on whims. Let’s chuck this laundry and go on a picnic.”

  “I don’t—”

  He interrupted her protest. “It’s a beautiful day. We can sail on the Gulf.”

  She laughed. “In a washtub boat?”

  “No. I have the real thing—a sailboat that makes you forget everything except the water and the breeze.”

  Amy was tempted, but she wasn’t convinced. A part of her felt that she should battle against this man who kept threatening to obliterate her past. “Herman needs attention. And then, there are all these wet, very soapy clothes.” She waved her arms to encompass the four washing m
achines.

  “No problem.” With the efficiency of a long-time bachelor, Todd set the machines on “final rinse” and restarted them. Turning around, he grinned at Amy. “There. They’ll be done in a minute, then we can throw them in the dryer. You tend to Herman while I pack a picnic. Justin can come down and take out the clothes when they’re dry.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.”

  “Because is not an acceptable reason.” He walked over to her and tipped her face up. “I promise not to bite.”

  As she looked into his laughing blue eyes, she knew she was losing the battle. “Well ...”

  Todd knew he was winning. He smiled as the washing machines whirred to an end, and he and Amy threw the laundry into the line of dryers.

  “I’ll even steal a red union suit if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Amy gave in. After all, what possible harm could come from a man with such a sense of humor? One afternoon in his company wasn’t likely to change the direction of her life. She was securely tethered to the past, and one afternoon with another man wasn’t going to sever that tie.

  She felt gay and lighthearted now that her decision was made. Grinning, she discreetly moved her fingers across Herman’s computer panel. Without looking, she knew exactly which buttons to punch.

  The little robot came to life. He circled around Todd twice, then stopped in front of him. A series of electronic beeps emitted from his comical face as he gave Todd a formal bow.

  “Herman thanks you for the invitation,” Amy said, “and says that I accept.”

  “Tell Herman that he’s made me a happy man. The next time we go sailing, I’ll invite him.”

  “Don’t talk about next time, Todd. Today is a one-shot deal. A sort of celebration for getting all the soap off the floor.”

  “You never know, Amy. Life is full of good things to celebrate.”

  “I do my celebrating with Herman.” She bent over the robot’s computer panel to keep herself from thinking about next times and celebrations with Todd. She flicked a few buttons, and the little robot gave an unwieldy salute. “That’s his way of saying good-bye.”

  Todd leaned down, put his hands on Amy’s shoulders, and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. “That’s my way of saying I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes.”

  Amy loved his way of communicating, but she didn’t tell him so. She loved touching. Suddenly she remembered times when she had passed by Tim’s easel and had caressed his hair or his cheek or the back of his neck. He was usually so deep in his dream world of art that he merely grunted. Sometimes he would mumble, “Not now. Amy.”

  She hastily pushed the memory to the back of her mind. She would not let anything tarnish Tim’s image. Especially not another man who was becoming more charming by the minute.

  “About that sail, Todd. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated. What could she say? That she was afraid of him? Afraid that he would replace Tim’s memory? That she wasn’t ready to let go of the past? That memories were less threatening than reality? She couldn’t say any of those things. An honest confession would open lines of communication that she didn’t want opened. She decided to fall back on her stock answer, the one she always gave when she wanted to avoid the truth.

  “Because.”

  Todd immediately wanted to declare that word illegal. Amy had used it to put up barriers between them ever since he had known her. He checked his impatience, reminding himself that she had already made herself abundantly clear. She didn’t want emotional entanglements, but guessed he should be pleased that he fell into that category. At least he had made some impression. That was better than nothing.

  How could he argue with Amy’s forlorn little because? It told him nothing, yet it spoke volumes. He felt defenseless against that word. He shrugged and automatically resorted to the one defense he had—humor.

  “It’s because of the union suit,” he said. “By George, I’m sorry, Amy. Next time I invite you sailing, I’ll have a red union suit in my hands.”

  She smiled with relief and almost changed her mind again. Almost, but not quite.

  “That’s exactly the reason, Todd. How can I risk sailing without a red flag?”

  “You’re a cautious woman, Amy Logan. I knew that the minute I discovered you had invented a bed that played ‘Dixie.’ “ His smile of genuine mirth took the sting out of his words.

  Amy decided a quick retreat was in order. The longer she talked with Todd, the more she wanted to stay. “A bed that needs my attention,” she said. “I think I hear it playing my song.”

  “And which song is that?”

  The way he said it, with a soft edge of seduction in his voice, stunned Amy. How could he change so quickly from humor to ... She wouldn’t even let herself think about what he had changed to. She bent over her robot to cover her confusion and quickly punched his buttons. Getting out of the basement was top priority.

  “That’s a private matter between the inventor and the invention. Good-bye, Todd. Thanks for helping me mop up the soap.” She quickly spun around and left the basement, accompanied by her robot.

  Todd watched them go. The way Amy had felt in his arms was uppermost in his mind. “That little robot deserves a medal,” he said as he turned back to his laundry and tried to squash his disappointment at the canceled sailing date.

  Suddenly, he smiled and strode toward the dryers, Amy had forgotten her laundry.

  o0o

  Amy barely noticed Herman’s labored whirring as they rode the elevator up to their floor. The soap bubble business was taking its toll. By the time they had reached the apartment, Herman’s electronic parts were grinding and growling like a grizzly bear. Still, Amy paid no heed, all her attention being taken by a certain soapy kiss and the way it had made her feel.

  Herman created such a clatter entering the apartment that Aunt Syl rose from her typewriter in alarm. “The saints preserve us,” she said. “We’re being attacked by lawn mowers.”

  She opened her door a crack and peered through. Her wig, which was always askew, covered the eye she was using to spy. Impatiently, she pushed the wig aside.

  “Ridiculous pompadour,” she muttered. “No wonder Marie Antoinette lost her head.”

  The pile of white curls threatened to topple backward off her head, then settled at an angle that resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. With her wig out of the way, Aunt Syl could see her niece. She took in the wet clothes, the flushed cheeks, the heaving chest. Her intense curiosity catapulted her into the room.

  “What in the world happened to you?” she asked. “And don’t you dare leave out any of the juicy parts.”

  “I’ve been doing laundry,” Amy said.

  “It appears to me you’ve been in the tub with the laundry.”

  “Just a small accident. Herman put in too much soap.”

  “Herman, eh? Since when does that robot do anything you don’t tell him to do? I smell a story.”

  “What you smell is soap. I have to take a shower and change, Aunt Syl.” Amy started toward her bedroom, then remembered her robot. “Poor Herman.” Turning around, she patted his head and switched him off. “I’ll see about you later.” Ignoring her aunt, she marched toward her room.

  Nothing deterred Aunt Syl, certainly not Amy. She followed her niece into the bedroom, determined to find out what had happened in the laundry room.

  “I suppose the soap is the cause of your flushed cheeks,” she said.

  Remembering the kiss and Todd’s remark about soap insanity, Amy flushed even brighter. “It certainly is.” She quickly hid her face by pulling her damp shirt over her head.

  “Ah-ha!”

  “What does that mean. Aunt Syl?” Her voice was muffled by the shirt.

  “It means that something happened in the basement.” She clapped her hands in d
elight. “I hope it was a good sex scene. My, I do love a good sex scene.”

  “Aunt Syl!” Amy dropped her shirt and began to peel off her wet shorts. She tried to look severe, but with unruly blond curls and damp panties and bra, she couldn’t pull it off. “You keep confusing fiction with reality. My life is not a book.”

  “You didn’t deny it, so it must be so.”

  “What?”

  “The sex scene.”

  Amy grabbed her robe and headed to the shower. She decided it was best to ignore her aunt, especially since she was so close to the truth.

  Aunt Syl followed her, stopping only when her own sense of propriety kept her from tagging along right into the bathroom. When she was hot on the trail of a story, she never gave up.

  “Who was the hero?” she called through the door. “I hope it was that rambunctiously gorgeous judge. Was it the judge, Amy?”

  Amy was so startled by her aunt’s uncanny accuracy that she forgot to adjust the water. “Ouch!” she yelled as it nearly scalded her feet. “Rambunctiously gorgeous, indeed,” she grumbled. “I almost burned myself to a crisp, Aunt Syl. Will you please stop with the Twenty Questions so I can bathe?”

  “Ah-ha!”

  “And don’t start with the ‘ah-has’ again.” Amy turned the water on full force to drown out her aunt’s voice. But even over the increased roar she could still hear Sylvia Street’s last comment.

  “If I had had a sex scene in the basement with the judge, I wouldn’t be up here taking a shower. I’d be in his bed.”

  The comment triggered all kinds of fantasies, most of them X-rated. Amy buried her flaming face in the washcloth.

  After she had finished her shower, she was relieved to discover that Aunt Syl had gone back to her work. The steady clacking of the typewriter keys sounded like a reprieve. Amy didn’t want any more discussion about what had happened in the basement. It was already bad enough that it had happened at all.

  She slipped into cut-off jeans and a pink halter top. It was so hot that she was tempted to wear nothing at all. She walked across the room barefoot, stopping beside her bed, and picked up Tim’s pipe. She caressed the smooth stem and the wood bowl, still faintly fragrant from his special blend of tobacco. She sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the familiar sense of his presence the pipe always evoked. But today nothing happened. She closed her eyes and tried to dredge up Tim’s memory, but still nothing happened. To make matters worse, she felt rather foolish, a grown woman sitting on the bed with an old pipe.