He stared into her eyes, fighting the uneasy feeling that she was right. Fighting the desperate need to hold her again, to make her his forever. His hand dropped away from her face as she turned, her skirt drifting around her.
Trace watched her walk to the door, feeling as if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. Somewhere he'd missed something, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Lily turned at the door, her face pale but composed.
*'Sorry if I made a fool of myself." She was gone before he could say anything. The door closed behind her with a gentle click.
Trace stared at the blank panel for a long time, searching for answers to questions he couldn't quite ask. He'd done the right thing. He didn't doubt that he'd done the right thing. No matter what his feelings were, he wasn't the right person for Lily. Besides, it was just a temporary aberration. He wasn't really in love with her. It wasn't possible.
He bent slowly and picked up the dropped can of beer, hooking his finger around the tab. Yes, he'd definitely done the right thing.
But if it was the right thing, why did it feel so wrong? The shaken beer exploded over him as if in silent conmientary.
Trace shook himself, coming back to the present. The scent of coffee was still in the air but he could ahnost smell the heat of an August afternoon. They'd never spoken of that afternoon. For a long time he'd avoided her, but when they saw each other again, there was nothing in Lily's manner that led him to believe she ever thought about it. It might never have happened if it hadn't been for the memories, too vivid to be anything but real.
As he walked downstairs, he reminded himself that nothing had really changed. True, Lily wasn't the near child she'd been six years ago, but that was all that was different. She still deserved someone who could give her far more than he could ever offer.
The kitchen was bright with sunshine spilling in through the window over the sink. In jeans and a pale gold shirt, Lily looked as ethereal as a shaft of sunlight. She turned away from the stove as Trace came into the room, her smile a little ragged around the edges, her eyes red rimmed with exhaustion or tears, Trace couldn't be sure which.
**Good morning. I hope you still like French toast. I found some bread and eggs but not much else.*'
'Trench toast sounds great." His stomach twisted sluggishly at the thought of food but he ignored it. Life had to start getting back to normal, no matter how hard it was. Breakfast was as good a place to begin as any.
"I thought I might do some shopping today, get some food in the house. You'll be staying here, won't you, at least for a little while?"
Trace hesitated only a moment. His common sense told him he was going to get hurt. But he couldn't look into those eyes and tell her no.
**Sure. There's nothing at my apartment that can't survive without my presence for a while." The relief in her face was worth any future price he might have to pay.
"I'm glad. I wasn't really too anxious to stay here alone."
**I know what you mean." He leaned back as she set a plate of gently steaming French toast in front of him. **This looks wonderful. Did they teach you to cook in England? I thought all they ate in England was boiled vegetables and overdone meat."
Lily smiled at his gentle gibe. **That's a false rumor. There's really some quite wonderful food there if you know where to look. The only thing I had a hard time getting used to was that I always had to beg for ice in my drinks and then I'd be lucky to get one measly ice cube, which melted before the glass hit the table."
*'If that's your only complaint, it can't have been too bad."
**No, it was a good experience. I really learned a lot and I enjoyed myself." She took a sip of hot coffee and jotted some notes on the shopping list next to her plate. **Is there anything in particular you want me to get at the store? It looks like we need everything."
**Just get whatever you want. I haven't been much in the mood for eating or shopping since—for the past few days." For just a few moments they'd almost managed to forget what had happened. Trace toyed with his food, his appetite gone. He glanced at Lily. Her eyes were lowered, watching the aimless movements of her coffee cup as she twisted it around and around between her hands. Her mouth wasiield tight, as if that were the only way to prevent it from quivering.
Danm his clumsy tongue. But it was too late now. There'd been a short time when they'd managed to pretend they didn't have such a tragic reason for being here. The fragile mood was gone now, not to be regained. He stood up, scraping the remains of his breakfast into the garbage disposal.
* Thanks. It was great French toast."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it." She didn't mention the fact that he'd barely eaten two bites. What they both needed right now was the illusion of hfe being normal, no matter how fragile that illusion was.
The day drifted by without reality. No one stopped by, the phone didn't ring. They were living next to one of the biggest cities in the country but there was a feeUng of isolation about the day, as if, despite the millions of people nearby, they were all alone, set apart by their shared grief.
Trace worked aimlessly in the garage, cleaning things that didn't need to be cleaned, sharpening tools that didn't need to be sharpened. Lily dusted and vacuumed, filling her time with mindlesis tasks that served to occupy her hands, if not still her thoughts. They spoke occasionally on the most mundane of topics. But for the most part they avoided each other as much as they avoided their own thoughts.
Lunch was eaten in virtual silence, each picking at the pasta salad Lily made. It had been prepared more in an effort to keep them from thinking than because either of them
was hungry. The afternoon was more of the same. Time drifted by with little meaning or purpose.
Everywhere Trace turned he was reminded of his loss. The house was full of memories, all of them painful at the mo^ ment. If it hadn't been for Lily, he wouldn't have stayed here. Mike's death was too new, too hurtful. But Lily was here and this was where he'd stay. He couldn't leave her alone. Honesty compelled him to admit that, no matter what the circumstances, he wanted to be near her.
Late in the afternoon the Santa Ana winds started to blow through the foothills, gusting across the canyons. Trace was grateful for something definite to do. He tied down trash can lids and moved potted plants to sheltered places. What he needed was something solid to sink his teeth into. Something he could take action on, something with a purpose. His mouth twisted. Something like a good hurricane would be nice.
As the sun set, the winds seemed to pick up force, or perhaps it was only the darkness that made them seem to howl louder. Occasionally the little house shuddered under the impact of a particularly strong gust, but it had withstood thirty years of winds; it wasn't too disturbed by this latest gale.
Dinner was even more silent than lunch. They'd run out of small talk and neither had the inclination for anything more. The winds blew steadily. The subdued roar seemed to emphasize the silence within the house. After the quiet meal, Trace offered to do the dishes, but Lily insisted that she could do them herself. He would have protested but the look in her eyes told him that she really wanted to be alone.
He wandered into the living room and turned on the television. Slumped back in a chair, he stared at the bright screen without seeing it. He could hear Lily in the kitchen, the quiet clink of dishes, the rush of running water. Under
other circumstances he couldn't imagine a more pleasantly domestic scene. Sort of like Life with Father.
He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there when he became aware of the silence beyond the range of the television. The news poured out, unheard, unwatched. The wind still battered at the windows like an angry child wanting to get in, but other than that, he couldn't hear a sound. Up until a little while ago he'd heard the occasional clink of a plate or glass, a cupboard door shutting, all indications that he wasn't alone in the house.
But now there was only silence. Maybe Lily was having a cup of tea. Just because she wasn't making noise didn't mean something
was wrong. It was foolish to feel so uneasy just because of a few minutes of quiet. Any minute now he'd hear a noise or she'd come in and tell him she was going to bed. Any minute now. But he wasn't going to wait. He stood up and shut off the television, his head cocked as he hstened. For a moment, all he could hear was the roar of the wind, but then there was another sound, softer, more mournful.
She was crying. •
He moved into the kitchen, his footsteps silent on the wooden floors. Maybe he shouldn't intrude on her grief. But he couldn't just walk away and leave her alone any more than he could have walked away when they were children. She was part of him, the bright half of his soul, and he couldn't ignore her pain.
Lily was hunched over the counter, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Her hands were cupped together and Trace's first thought was that she might have hurt herself. Two long strides carried him across the room to her side.
"Lily? Are you hurt?"
His anxious question brought her head up. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, her mouth trembled with pain.
* Trace." His name came out on a sob and she held her hands out without speaking. Trace looked down, seeking some sign of injury. She hadn't hurt herself but what she held made his throat tighten in sudden painful memory. Cupped between her hands was a pipe. Nothing fancy, just a plain briar pipe, the stem slightly chewed.
"I... found it while I was... putting away the dishes." Sobs broke the sentence into choppy lengths.
The pipe blurred as he took it from her, weighing it in his hand, remembering the way Mike would clench his teeth around the stem while he worked on a crossword puzzle. If he closed his eyes he could almost smell the warm aroma of tobacco.
"Oh, Trace, Fm going to miss him."
*'I know, honey, I know." He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leaned into him, her tears dampening his shirt, her sobs tearing at his heart. He set the pipe on the counter and ran his hand over her hair, a mindless rhythmic movement meant to soothe and comfort.
She sobbed against him, the cleansing flood of tears washing away some of the hurt. Trace held her, wishing he could absorb her pain. But her hurt was her own and all he could do was let her know she wasn't alone. He rested his cheek on the softness of her dark hair, closing his eyes tight, feeling tears burn beneath his eyelids.
*'It's going to be all right. I'm here, love. I'm here."
After a long time her sobs eased to an occasional broken breath. When she pushed against his chest, Trace's arms loosened slowly. Holding her was an exquisite agony but one he was reluctant to relinquish.
*'I must look awful." She wiped self-consciously at her eyes, sniffing. Trace leaned over and pulled a handful of tissues out of the box on the counter and handed them to her.
**You look beautiful, as always."
Lily dried her eyes and blew her nose before giving him a skeptical look. **Thanks/' She glanced down, her fingers tearing at a tissue. **rm sorry I fell apart like that."
"You're entitled." He brushed a lock of hair back from her face, aware of the silky feel of it in his fingers.
"I promised myself I was going to be strong."
**Crying doesn't make you any less strong."
She tilted her head back to look up at him, her eyes bright green. "Did you cry?"
"Sure," he lied without hesitation. "Howled like a baby."
Lily studied him for a long moment with that look in her eyes that always made him feel as if she were seeing things he couldn't see. She shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think you've let yourself cry in a long time—not since I've known you. You didn't cry when we left home and you never cried all those awful months."
He shrugged. "I guess if I was a sensitive kind of a guy, tears would come easier." But he remembered a Christmas Eve when tears had eased some of his pain.
"It doesn't take tears to make a man sensitive."
Trace looked away, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. He shouldn't have let himself remember that hot summer day. The memories were too close, too vivid. The room was quiet for a moment and then he glanced back at her. She reached out, fingering the pipe.
"I'm going to miss him an awful lot."
"I know. He was a great guy."
"Do you ever wonder where we'd be without him?"
"Sure. I'd be in prison and you'd have been left on the streets alone."
Her lower lip quivered and her eyes filled with fresh tears. "It hurts, Trace. It hurts so much."
"I know, baby, I know. Don't cry anymore." He responded to the pain in her eyes instinctively, reaching up to
cup her face in gentle hands. A single tear slid down her cheek.
"Fm sorry/' The apology came out as a choked whisper and Trace felt his heart break. She looked so small and vulnerable. He'd been protecting her for so long. It hurt that he couldn't protect her from this pain.
'*Don't, baby. Don't cry anymore. I'm here. I'll always be here." The words were whispered against her cheek as he kissed the solitary tear away. His mouth touched the comer of her mouth and time froze. For an endless second neither of them moved. Trace would never know who moved first. Did he shift or was it she? In the end it didn't matter. What mattered was that their lips met and suddenly there was nothing else in the world but them.
He'd almost managed to convince himself that her mouth wasn't as sweet as he'd remembered from those few stolen kisses. He'd told himself that it wasn't possible that a woman's mouth could mold to his so perfectly. He'd told himself that, but he hadn't believed it.
Lily's mouth softened and opened beneath his like a flower responding to a spring shower. The kiss had started out as a comfort, but the quality shifted too quickly for Trace to stop it. It wasn't possible to want to stop it. She felt so right in his arms. Grief sharpened the edges of their need. Death had walked through their lives, leaving wreckage behind. Each felt a deep need to affirm life, to hold on tight to each moment, aware of life's fleeting qualities.
His tongue explored the warm sweetness of her mouth, his arms pulling her close until not even air could have fit between their bodies. Lily's hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, chnging to him.
Sanity returned to Trace's mind and he drew back, staring down into her eyes. "This is crazy. I shouldn't be doing this."
"Yes, we should." The delicate emphasis made it clear that this was a step she was taking by choice. "Please, Trace. This is right. Feel how right it is."
He didn't move, trying desperately to remember all the reasons why this was wrong. This was Lily. He had no right to want her hke this. No right to touch her. But it was impossible to think when her fingers were busy sliding the buttons of his shirt loose, one by one, her fingertips brushing against his chest with each move.
He closed his eyes, his hands coming up to catch her shoulders, intending to push her away. This had to be stopped now before something happened that they'd both r^ret. But her hands were against his chest, her fingers kneading his strong muscles.
"Lily." He couldn't have said whether the name was a protest or a prayer. His hands tightened on her shoulders but he didn't push her away.
"This is right. Trace. I know it's right." She leaned into his hold and his arms bent weakly, allowing her closer. He shuddered as her breath ghosted over his skin and then her mouth touched his collarbone.
"Love me. Trace. Please love me." Her hand slid up into his hair and she raised herself on her toes, pressing herself against his rigid body. "I need you."
Trace opened his eyes, looking down into her face. He was lost. He knew and she knew it. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong but he couldn't seem to remember why. He couldn't think of anything but the way she felt, the way she looked, the scent of her.
"Crazy." But the word was smothered against her mouth. Lily's arms circled his neck as he bent to scoop her into his arms. He carried her upstairs to his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them. The room was dim, lit only by the bright moonlight that spilled in through the ope
n curtains.
He set Lily down next to the bed, letting her slide against his body, feeling the teasing pressure from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Her hair cascaded over his hands, a silken black waterfall that seemed to bind him to her. His mouth traced the length of her throat, his tongue settling on the pulse that beat so heavily at its base.
He'd been waiting for this for so long. All his life, it seemed. Lily pressed against him, feeling the boldness of his arousal along her hip. Her eyes widened for an instant, their expression impossible to read in the moonlight. His hand found her breast and her eyes closed, her slim body shuddering in his hold. Trace eased his leg between her thighs, pressing upward with gentle insistence. A soft whimper escaped her, her head falling back against his arm.
Arousal pounded in his veins, hot and demanding. He'd wanted for so long, needed for so many years. His hands were impatient with her shirt, tugging it off over her head, begrudging even those few seconds when they had to be apart. Her bra slid away, baring high firm breasts to his eyes, to his touch. He lifted her off the ground, an arm under her buttocks bracing her.
"Trace." His name escaped her on a gasp of startled pleasure as his tongue teased gently at one taut nipple. He held her there, taking his time as he painted each breast with delicate strokes before drawing a firm peak into his mouth to suckle hungrily. Her skin was hot and flushed as if with fever when he finally let her slide the length of his body. Her knees buckled and she would have slipped to the floor if he hadn't kept hold of her.
Trace looked down at her dazed expression and felt a purely male satisfaction. He'd brought that look of mingled need and wonder to her face. And then it was his turn to shudder as her trembling fingers slid the remaining buttons from buttonholes, tugging at his shirt until he shrugged it off, leaving them both bare to the waist.
Lily stretched up on her toes, linking her arms around his neck, her eyes meeting his as she leaned into him. Trace flushed, his eyes closing at the first sweet pressure of her breasts against his skin. His hands spanned her smooth back, drawing her closer, savoring the gentle torture. Lily's fingers slid into the thick hair at the base of his skull and his eyes flicked open to stare down into hers.
Together Always Page 9
