Tidings of Love

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  She thought of his touch.

  His fingers pressed firmly against her skin, making her ache with longing. They slid across her abdomen. The pressure eased as they traced the valley between her breasts, lightly tickling her skin, bringing a smile to her face. They continued exploring to her neck and damp curls along her hairline. She sensed his touch so clearly, she blushed when she realized she moaned audibly.

  Chuckling, he murmured, “Next time, we’ll slow down.” His hot, moist breath tickled her ear.

  Her flesh tingled in anticipation. Surely she’d dreamt all this. She sat up and pinched her leg. Hard. Pain told her she was awake. He caressed her lower back. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He lay propped on one elbow with a bemused expression on his face. Had she heard him right?

  “Next time?”

  • • •

  Nervous, he feared rejection. His mind pulsed with self doubt. I thought she enjoyed herself, but maybe not. Perhaps she humored him. Her work required a certain level of acting, after all. She hadn’t said much during intercourse except panting his name. Catherine used to give directions or discuss household chores as if making love were as ordinary as washing dishes. This had been different. With Penelope, it all happened so fast. One minute they danced, the next they were rolling on the floor. Maybe she wasn’t satisfied but refused to say anything out of courtesy.

  He raised himself to her side, not touching her in case his worst fear came true. He gazed into her deep blue eyes, so beautiful. “I hope there will be a next time.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, as if she were surprised he wanted more of her. “I — I’d like that very much.”

  She leaned closer and he wrapped his arms around her. They sat holding each other in the firelight, breathing in sync. How could someone so delicate work such powerful magic on him?

  He loved how her fingers touched him, a light but deliberate pressure, full of promise and tenderness. She traced a tiny line on his chin.

  “How did you get that?” When he didn’t respond right away she added, “The scar on your chin?”

  He’d forgotten it was there, even though he saw it every day. No one had asked him about it for a long time. For once, he didn’t feel foolish. “I was trying to impress a girl with some skateboarding tricks.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she raised her face toward his. “You don’t seem like the skateboarding type. Did it work?”

  “Skateboarding was part of my misspent youth. The trick ended in the emergency room and I decided to stick with snowboarding. And yes, it worked. Sort of. The girl went on a pity date with me. Once.”

  “Her loss.”

  Her playful tone of voice made him think she was the kind of woman who would never do anything out of pity or guilt. She would give him an honest answer.

  He spoke softly in her ear, not yet confident how she would respond. “Eloise is spending the night at her grandparents’. Will you stay for breakfast?”

  “Hmmmm.” Her gaze roamed over him approvingly, reviving his arousal. “Only if you promise to wear me out.”

  He stood, not caring that he was grinning like an idiot and offering his hand to Penelope. She stood. She was very naked and had to be cold. He started gathering up her clothes on his way to turn off the fire.

  “Wait. Now you’re kicking me out?”

  “No! I thought we’d continue this in the bedroom.”

  “Then lead the way.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want your shirt or anything so you don’t get cold? I could get a robe for you.”

  She surprised him with a little pat on his rear. “Why? Watching that butt heading down the hall will keep me plenty warm.”

  When his head snapped to look at her face, her worried look took him off guard. Could she really worry she’d hurt him? He burst out laughing. He kissed her hair, finding its peppermint smell appealing.

  Pulling her close, he wondered about the woman standing before him. Catherine had barely liked being naked in bed, much less out of it. After Eloise’s birth, she wouldn’t even let him have a light on until she insisted on plastic surgery to fix what she called her wrecked body. She had been on her to some surgery resort to meet a friend for a tummy tuck when she crashed on an icy road and lost her life.

  His eyes met Penelope’s, so trusting, so lively. He chastised himself for dredging old memories, making needless comparisons when she stood before him, so open, so ready.

  They held hands as they went up stairs to his bedroom. He couldn’t resist the urge to peek at her heart shaped derriere as they walked. He might not get another chance. He pushed open the door and, after confirming the blinds were indeed closed, he flipped on the ceiling fan light and stepped aside to watch her take in the room.

  The room’s cathedral ceiling that would have soared higher if the furniture hadn’t been heavy, dark and squat. The canopy bed in Eloise’s room looked right. The four poster canopy bed in here seemed shackle-like in how firmly it anchored to the floor. The room still had overwrought floral curtains, but the bed linens were elegant gray on gray stripes.

  He took pride in his un-decorating efforts. Last week, after he watched Penelope’s taillights disappear down the street and around the corner, he drank a beer on the couch. He then grabbed another bottle and set to work trying to make the house a more inviting place. He’d never considered making changes to the decor other than updating Eloise’s room to her big girl tastes. But Penelope inspired him. All week he tinkered with the house, moving photos and buying new sheets for his bed.

  “It’s a bit schizophrenic right now. I’m trying to sort out what I want.” Looking at her profile, he realized on some level, he already had.

  “Please tell me you are in the market for new drapes.”

  “The store said the ones to match the bed spread were out of stock until mid-January.”

  She looked at him, eyes twinkling mischievously. “I hope you put in a pre-order. For now, though, you need to either dim the lights or distract me.”

  “That can be arranged.” Proving his point, he kissed her, the urgency from earlier now tempered with tenderness. She melted against him. Swooping her up, he carried her across the room, laying her gently on the bed. He distracted her with caressing touches, until her body once again quivered with pleasure. She returned the favor, savoring his body first with her fingers, then with her mouth. He begged to be inside her again. They danced again, a slow tango, until reaching mutual heights of ecstasy.

  Exhausted, they lay back on the pillows. After a few minutes, he rolled her onto her side. His body was sated and ready for sleep, but one question pushed its way to the edge of his consciousness. His fingertips traced along her spine. His drowsy voice registered below a whisper, “Where do you hide your wings?” He curled around her before drifting to sleep, the happiest he’d been in a long time.

  • • •

  Although secure in his arms, her restless mind tossed and turned. She refused to call what they had just done making love. But no other term seemed right. She knew he didn’t love her. She was perhaps, no more than a warm and willing body to him. During the heat of the moment, though, eyes and bodies focused on each other, she could pretend he cared.

  When she managed to rest, she dreamt of snuggling with him every night, of waking next to him and of Eloise joining them on the bed with her little brother in tow. She dreamt he loved her a little bit, because she loved him.

  Love frightened her. She knew all about love. She fell in love with dance when she was in kindergarten. Through the years she sacrificed much in her pursuit of that deep, powerful, all consuming love. Whereas other teenagers went to parties or football games or held down afterschool jobs, she did her homework on the train as she shuttled to dance classes in the city or to rehearsals. Love was a hell of a lot of work.

  She
woke early, leaving him tucked in bed. She doubted he had many opportunities to sleep in. She showered, pleased that the scent of his shower gel would linger with her all day. As she dried off, the opening bathroom door surprised her. Carson entered, handing her a cup of coffee after she secured the towel around herself.

  “Thank you.”

  One sip revealed the strong black coffee tasted as good as it smelled. But she knew from firsthand experience that the man in the blue plaid pajama pants tasted even better.

  His hair showed signs of bed head. Not in an offensive way, but in an adorable, just woke up haven’t had time to primp way. His stubble was more pronounced. She wondered if it would be soft or slightly scratchy against her abdomen. She knew she’d like it either way and that was part of the problem.

  “You weren’t going to slip out without saying goodbye, were you?” He sounded almost relieved to see her.

  “No.” The thought had crossed her mind. She would rather leave on her own terms than be kicked out when he regretted what he had done. “I should probably get dressed. Eloise comes home soon, right?”

  He nodded, looking uncomfortable. His Adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. “I put your clothes on the chair. I’m sorry, but I … couldn’t find your underwear.”

  This was bad. It wasn’t so much the loss but the realization that inevitably Eloise would find her panties tucked into the couch or dangling from the Christmas tree or some other place. Guilt gripped her as she imagined the ensuing conversation where he would hem and haw an explanation. She suspected he feared the same.

  “I’m sure they’re somewhere.” She hoped she sounded more reassuring than she felt.

  She crossed the room, aware of him watching her. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, disappointed, or something else. The morning light brought a glimpse of reality after the previous dreamy night. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so exposed if she actually got some clothes on. The towel slipped as she rummaged through her clothes, trying to find her bra without spilling the cup of coffee she still held.

  The she felt a bump in her pant leg and stopped caring about the slipping towel.

  “Here they are!” Triumphantly, she extracted her g-string from the leg of her pants and began swinging them round and round on her finger as she flashed Carson a mega-watt grin. He appeared chagrined. Something brushed her face. An overly long string swung from one side.

  “Oops. The string broke.” She quit goofing around and shimmied into her bra.

  “That was your underwear?”

  “Yup.”

  “My cell phone is bigger than that little scrap of fabric. Still, can I get you a needle and thread or a safety pin?”

  “No. It’s not a big deal. Half the time I don’t even bother with underwear. I’ll tuck these in my pocket and throw them out at home.”

  Guilt-free, she bent forward to tug on her pants. Then she heard the crash.

  “Damn it!”

  She sprang up and looked across the room. He stood in the bathroom doorway, surrounded by fragments of the mug and pools of dark brown coffee. He didn’t look happy.

  She crossed the room. “Let me — ”

  “No,” he muttered. “I’ll clean up later.”

  • • •

  After she got him so worked up this morning, he tried to coax her back into bed, but she protested. He gave up and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Watching panty-free Penelope reach for milk in the refrigerator proved so distracting he burnt the first batch of scrambled eggs and had to start all over. Worst of all was their breakfast conversation.

  “Maybe you could come over again some night this week? After Eloise goes to bed, you could give me another dance lesson.”

  He held her hand, waggling his eyebrows in what he hoped was a suggestive way. She laughed.

  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” She turned serious. “I can’t.”

  “Maybe we could get lunch or coffee then?”

  “I can’t. I’m going home this week. I’ve got one audition and two cattle calls lined up.”

  “But you live across town.”

  She shook her head. “I came here to recuperate from an injury. My parents let me live in their carriage house but new tenants move in after the holidays and I’m returning to work. I live in New York. I mentioned it at Eloise’s party. I thought you knew this already.”

  “I thought you had a job teaching children — teaching Eloise.” His anger rose. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he remembered her mentioning going back to work, but he assumed she meant teaching. He remembered she mentioned New York and John but why would she move half way across the country to teach? He was angry — on behalf of his daughter and himself. How could she be so flippant about leaving after last night? Hadn’t it meant anything to her?

  “I only committed to teach through December. They don’t need me at the school. I’m only there because the director hopes I’ll be able to help her top students with some of my contacts. I may be back to offer special theme workshops from time to time, but hopefully I’ll get my career back on track before it’s too late.”

  “So it’s all about your career. You’re going to abandon Eloise and the other girls who adore you.” It was easier to keep his focus on Eloise than admit his own hurt. He wanted to shout, What about me? What about us? Already his voice stuck in his throat. He refused to beg or, worse, cry in front of her. He had his pride.

  “You make me sound so cold.” Hostility flashed in her eyes.

  “Using a child — ”

  She slammed a hand on the table. “I’m not heartless. I care for Eloise. I was going to ask if I could take her to the special exhibit at the Art Institute the day after Christmas. I have a stack of stationary and stamped envelopes pre-addressed to me so she can send me drawings if she wants, and I hope she does. I don’t want to leave, but last week I got rejected by the one local company that was running auditions. So I have to go where the work is. One cattle call is for the theme parks in Orlando. Not my dream job, but one of the most attractive perks would be free tickets that I thought I’d send to you and Eloise. My cell phone has a local number so she can call me when I’m on the road or in New York. I came here to heal from some broken ribs. I didn’t expect to get attached to anyone, much less a precocious girl and an incredibly appealing man who still loves his dead wife.”

  She clasped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She stood, backing away the table.

  “I … I … I didn’t mean to say that. I’m going now.” She ran for the door. By the time he caught her, she pulled something shiny from her bag and threw it on the floor. It looked like a Christmas package, rectangular and wrapped with a bright red bow. He’d deal with it later.

  “Penelope … ” She tugged on her coat and opened the door. He reached for her arm, but she wrenched away from him.

  “Don’t.” She stepped outside and he stood in the doorway like an idiot. “I do want to spend the day with Eloise again. If you would let me, that is. You might view me as a convenient fuck or as someone who pretended to care about your daughter, but Eloise won’t understand if you cast me away without letting me say goodbye.” She wheeled around and stormed down the snow cleared path to her car.

  He stood there, shirtless and in bare feet, watching her go. He struggled to sort out the myriad emotions churning through him. So he offended her. But wasn’t she the one pushing him away so she could have a career? Catherine had been a careerist. He hadn’t noticed at first. Med school and residency had kept him busy, but as the years passed she continually placed her job over their family. After Eloise arrived, he and Catherine became ships passing in the night, spending more time arguing than acting like lovers. Initially he chalked it up to new motherhood and hormones, but it never seemed to get better. He grew to resent the time she spent at
work, taking on additional cases and courting media coverage of her success. He once suggested couples counseling, but she said she’d rather see the plastic surgeon and look better during her not infrequent TV appearances. When she died, he couldn’t imagine life without her and didn’t know how he would go on. He was devastated and abandoned. But in retrospect, he’d had those feelings long before the crash.

  After Catherine died, such thoughts seemed like a betrayal. He reshaped her memory into one of the perfect wife and mother. When he walked Eloise to her first day of school, he visualized Catherine holding their daughter’s other hand and the three of them smiling as they strode confidently toward the door. They laughed as they prepared dinner together as a family. In his mind, they went on vacation, to Disney World, to the mountains, to the beach. In death she became everything he’d hoped she would be, but never was.

  He cleaned the coffee spill in the bedroom. He’d never liked the white textured carpet, but Catherine chose it. She picked virtually everything, with the help of a designer. Neither valued his opinion. “But honey,” she’d say, “You didn’t grow up in elegance like I did. Our home must be beautiful.” The memory of her voice echoed in head. “Well, of course I have to do extra work. Someone has to pay for the new car and our vacation.”

  He realized he probably loved Catherine more after her death than before it. The thought sickened him. Did he still love her? Had he ever loved her? Penelope was wrong. That much he knew. Part of him would always love Catherine because she was part of Eloise, but he was no longer in love with her. He didn’t miss Catherine’s laugh. He didn’t want to do foolish things to impress her. He wanted to remove the white now coffee stained bedroom carpet and put in wooden flooring. Would the change be a replacement or an upgrade?

  This trip down memory lane was getting him nowhere. There was plenty more cleaning to do. Downstairs, he poured another cup of coffee and began clearing away the long forgotten wine glasses. He picked up the blanket from in front of the fireplace. The musky smell nearly overwhelmed him as he thought about Penelope, and the way she gave of herself so willingly and generously last night. He cleared the dining room dishes, replacing Eloise’s Hello Kitty placemat and cleaning away the traces of the imp that scrambled his brain.