by Brenda Hill
Having been married all those years, I knew what an effort it must have been for Terry to stop so suddenly.
“I need a shower,” I said, so humiliated I wanted to die.
“You just showered, didn’t you?”
“But it’s not the same—”
“Listen to me. You’re supposed to trust me. Remember?”
I didn’t want to do it, but I relaxed my legs. Terry dipped his head and I felt nothing but terror. We weren’t locked in a passionate embrace in which we forgot everything. He was going to be turned off by me and I couldn’t bear it. Not after everything wonderful that had happened before.
He opened me with his fingers. I couldn’t help it—when I felt his warm, wet tongue, I moaned with pleasure. Then I felt a different sensation. I looked down and saw the strangest thing. Terry was rubbing his chin and face in my pubic hair. I propped myself on my elbows.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m loving you, every bit of you.” He opened me again with his fingers. I almost bolted off the bed, but he ignored me. “Your smell? Yes, you have a smell. We all do, and yours is all woman. I love it, and I wouldn’t want you to douche it away.”
I stared at him. “You like it?”
“Like it? Honey, I could get lost in your smell.”
I burst into tears.
Instantly he rose and took me in his arms. “What is it? What did I do?”
“My husband never liked to, to do that. He didn’t want to get near me unless I’d just cleaned myself.” Then I told him how Mac would never touch anything until he washed after touching me.
Terry’s arms tightened around me. “And you said you weren’t abused.” He sounded angry. “I don’t think the question is why you didn’t enjoy sex; I think it’s what the hell was wrong with your husband. Honey,” he said, turning me to face him, “we’re human. We all smell at times, we won’t always brush our teeth before kissing, and we won’t always have the opportunity to bathe first. But remember this. I love you, I love your smell. It gives me an instant erection. Everything that’s womanly about you calls to the man in me.”
I suddenly felt so gloriously free. When his arms tightened around me, I joyously gave myself to him. We made love again, our juices mingling, and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
When I woke around noon, we were under the covers. Terry must have pulled them over us some time during the early morning. He was lying next to me, his mouth slightly open and softly snoring. Listening to his breathing, I smiled and felt as though my entire body was smiling. When I reached down and touched his penis, he stirred and woke.
“God, you wake fast,” I said.
“All those years of training at the station, I guess.” He pulled me to him and we kissed. I wiggled against him, pushing my breasts against his chest.
“And I thought I didn’t like sex,” I said, still smiling.
“Oh, I knew you’d come around.”
“Just how did you know that?”
“Men just have this natural radar.”
“Oh? Tell me.”
“I can’t tell you anything right now,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “I’m an old man, you know. I need food, some kind of nourishment if I’m going to keep a wanton like you satisfied.”
“Wanton?” I grinned, and threw my legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, old man.”
His arms tightened around me. “Where are you going?”
“To the kitchen to feed you. I might want to do this again.”
I slipped into my robe, so light-hearted I almost danced to the shower. I felt so gorgeously alive. Now I knew what I had missed for most of my life and I determined I wasn’t going to miss more. I might be a recent widow—although after learning about Jenna, I no longer felt married to Mac—and Terry might not be officially divorced, but I no longer cared. It was time I grabbed some happiness of my own. No matter what had happened, I was going to live.
Then I thought of Shanna. If I knew my daughter, she was going to be horrified.
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time I got out of the shower, Terry had left the bedroom. Strains of a light opera drifted in from the kitchen radio, so I threw on some slacks and a pullover and headed in his direction. He was rummaging through the refrigerator, the package of muffins on the counter behind him.
“No eggs, no jelly,” he grumbled, giving me a quick hug. “Not even any butter. No respectable household goes without butter.”
“Who says I’m respectable?” Brushing by him, I took the tub of margarine from the tray.
“Naaa, not that stuff. I’m a real man.” Making fists, he struck a muscle-builder’s pose. “I want real butter.” His towel loosened and slipped to the floor. “Ooops.” He bent to retrieve it.
Laughing, I snuggled against him. “Well, real man, I’ll just have to figure out a different way to feed you.”
“I’ll be glad to help you figure it out. But later. Right now this real man needs real food. We’re going to the market.”
***
Since we were both hungry, we stopped at Denny’s for one of their breakfast specials. After we devoured eggs, bacon, sausage, and pancakes, we relaxed over coffee and talked. He asked about my past, my childhood, and while I’d never discussed those years with anyone, even glossing over them with Mac, I found myself opening to Terry. I allowed myself to remember, to feel, my childhood. I told him exactly how I’d tried to fade into the woodwork when my step-father was around.
“It was strange,” I reflected. “He never beat me, but when he’d look at me that certain way, everything in me froze. I’d never felt such hatred from anyone.”
“What caused it? Did you resent it when your mother married him?”
“Of course, but I was only seven. I could’ve warmed to him if he’d been loving to me. Instead, he hated me and did everything he could to tear me down. When he was home, I wasn’t allowed to play my radio or make noise of any kind. I wasn’t allowed to take part in family discussions, which usually meant giving Mom hell for something or other. He didn’t allow me to express anything except complete obedience. I couldn’t show anger, and I certainly wasn’t allowed to defend myself if he accused me of anything. He considered that backtalk. The only way I could get through those years was to stay out of his way, and above everything else, stay quiet.”
Terry covered my hand with his. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that. Where was your mother? Why didn’t she intervene?”
“Mom had enough to handle. She worked all the time trying to hold us together. She never had anything, never did anything except work and come home. All her money went for bills, and there was never enough. We were always moving, only spending a few months in each apartment until they kicked us out. I never knew where I was going to be living next. That man kept us in poverty all the time by drinking up the money.” I shook my head. “But she loved him. No matter what he put us through, she loved him. I never could understand that. Even as she lay dying, I knew she was thinking of him.”
We said nothing for a few moments. I didn’t realize how tightly I was gripping Terry’s hand until he loosened it.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, wiping sudden tears. “I don’t know why I went into all that.” Cheeks burning, I glanced around to see if anyone was looking at us. I picked up my coffee, more to cover up the tears.
“Honey, don’t worry what anyone else thinks,” Terry told me. “It’s okay if you cry; it’s natural. It must have been horrible for such a sensitive little girl. I’m honored that you could talk about it to me.”
It was another kind of freedom that I now felt. Terry accepted my past, my feelings, and me, without judging, without telling me what I should have done. Years ago when I’d tried to talk to Mac, he hadn’t understood. “After all,” he’d said, “your step-father never beat you. You should’ve ignored it or gone to the authorities.”
Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have done a lot of things in my life, but that wa
sn’t the way it happened. I’d been so terrorized that going to the authorities never occurred to me. Instead, I stayed quiet and made plans to escape as soon as I was old enough to survive. Until I told Mac, I’d always felt a sense of pride that I’d made it on my own at seventeen, but he only made me feel more inadequate.
But Terry understood. I could see it in his eyes. Not caring what anyone thought, I leaned across the table to kiss him.
“Well, that’s a nice surprise.” His smile was so wicked it was almost a leer. “Could I have a little more?”
Just like in the old musicals on TV, I could’ve broken out in song. “Just wait until I get you home, big boy.”
When I heard a snicker behind me, I turned to a booth full of teenagers, lips and eyebrows pierced with silver hoops.
“Hey, guys,” I said. “I’m here to tell you that love isn’t only for the young.”
They laughed, and when they filed out of the booth to leave, the boy with the most metal attached to his face smiled and gave Terry a thumbs up.
***
Grocery shopping had always been a chore, but today, strolling the aisles, loading the cart with anything that struck our fancy, was a treat. I picked out my normal staples—bread, eggs, cheese, and Terry tossed in real butter, along with ingredients for stir-fry, spaghetti and chili.
“I hope you’re going to cook all this,” I said, eyeing the cart. “Don’t forget, I’m a working woman and don’t have a lot of extra time.”
“I love to cook. We all took turns at the station. Which reminds me, I want to talk to you about that.”
“About what?” We stopped at the bin of watermelons and I started thumping them with my thumb and forefinger like I’d seen others do. I had no idea what to listen for, but I did it anyway, loving how efficient it made me feel.
“Your working.” Terry reached over and picked up a dark green melon. “How about this one?”
“Looks as good as any. You were saying?”
He placed the melon into the cart. “I was thinking about the two of us taking off and seeing the world.”
“Okay,” I said lightly, pushing the cart to the tomato bin. “And while you’re at it, how about a Caribbean cruise? Then perhaps we could hop a private jet and fly to Paris for dinner.”
“Well, the private jet may be a little out of my reach, but we can talk about the cruise.”
I came to a halt and looked at him. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Damned right I’m serious. We should do some things together while I can enjoy them. Travel, even. So many things I’d like to see—the Greek islands, Lock Ness, the pyramids. Hell, I love seafood and always wanted to go to one of those clambakes on the east coast.”
“I’d love to see those things with you,” I said, “but I have to support myself.” Suddenly aware of people trying to get around us in the aisle, I scooted my cart over. “We should talk about this later.”
“If that’s what you wish, but no matter when we talk about it, my feelings aren’t going to change.”
A white-haired woman in a lavender pantsuit walked by and smiled at us both, her smile suggesting she’d heard our entire conversation and approved.
“Later,” I whispered, my face flaming. Keeping my head down, I busied myself with the tomatoes. I picked out a beefsteak tomato. When I looked up, my heart nearly stopped. Rick stood in front of me. Dressed in jeans and a sport coat, his black hair as perfectly coifed as ever, he stood motionless at the end of the produce aisle, the expression on his face one of pure hatred. Gasping, I dropped the tomato. It split open, splattering juice and seeds on my feet and the floor.
When I looked back at Rick, he gave me that maddening little smirk of his, then disappeared around the aisle.
“Honey, what happened?” Terry asked.
“Rick.”
“That guy from your office?”
I nodded, pointing down the aisle.
Eyes narrowed, he dashed after Rick and disappeared around the aisle as well.
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted Terry to catch Rick or not. This time, Rick would be prepared and Terry could be hurt.
But why was Rick in my local supermarket? I thought of a hundred different possibilities. Rick had been shopping and was as surprised to see us as we were to see him. But, if he were shopping, where was his cart? I hadn’t seen one. And he didn’t live in the area—at least he didn’t used to live here. Could he have moved? Somehow I didn’t think so. But I didn’t like the alternative—that he might have followed us to the grocery store. But he couldn’t have done that; it would mean he’d been watching us. For how long? Oh, that was preposterous. He wouldn’t waste time following Terry and me.
Would he?
I pushed the cart in the direction that Terry had gone but he was nowhere in sight. Finally, heart thudding, I went back to the produce section and waited. A few moments later, he appeared.
“Did he come back this way?”
“No, I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s left the store.”
“I’ll see.” Terry sprinted to the front of the store.
When I reached the front, he’d already been outside and was walking back through the sliding glass doors.
“No sign of him,” he said, breathing so hard that I knew he’d been running. “Are you sure it was him?”
“It was Rick. He was watching us.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Once out of the supermarket, we loaded the groceries into Terry’s Lexus, searched the parking lot, then cruised a couple of side streets looking for Rick’s red sports car. Not finding it, Terry made a u-turn on Oak Glen Canyon Road and headed for home.
“He’s gone, honey,” he said. “He could’ve been visiting someone in the area and just happened to stop in at Von’s. You might never see him again.”
“I hope you’re right.” Still, I scanned each street we passed for Rick’s car. “It makes me feel uneasy to think he might be lurking around.”
“Why would he be lurking? You two didn’t have a thing, did you?”
“Of course not! I’m probably the only woman who didn’t pay attention to him.”
I told Terry about how Mac’s illness had begun to progress just about the time Rick started at the office. “Normally I like to welcome newcomers, but he started about the time Mac’s medical bills were piling up and I was too busy trying to make enough money to pay them. He wasn’t ignored, though. He was so good-looking that all the women simpered over him.”
I told him about that hateful day at the office when Rick and I’d had words.
“It’s his ego, then.” Terry was silent a few moments but the expression on his face told me he was deep in thought.
Ahead, crosswalk and sidewalk construction squeezed traffic into one lane on Yucaipa Boulevard near the newer city hall, and the line of cars stretched almost a city block, so Terry meandered over to Oak Glen Road.
Even with the economy’s downswing, Yucaipa was still growing, improving. Perhaps it was partially because of the altitude. At almost three-thousand feet, the city didn’t seem to smother under the blanket of smog that the rest of Southern California experienced. Or perhaps it’s because we could shop and do our errands along Yucaipa Boulevard and still have a view of the San Bernardino Mountains. Although some days, especially in the summer, the mountains were covered in haze, other times they stood gloriously magnificent; it made me feel good just to see them.
Seeing the new housing construction on Oak Glen Boulevard, I thought of the office and felt guilty because I hadn’t been in touch with Nina or Ben.
“I need to get back to work,” I said.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea with Romeo hanging around.”
“Terry, I have to work.”
“Why don’t you let me take care of you?”
“You have enough to handle right now.”
He pulled onto a side street, stopped the car and turned to me. “Marry me, Lisa. This is not the most romantic time
or place, but I want you to know how much I love you.”
Looking into his gentle loving eyes, I felt thrilled at his proposal, even if we were parked on a side street in the middle of the day.
“I can take care of us both,” he said, lightly stroking my shoulder, my arm so that every cell in my body paid attention. There was no sexual meaning to his touch, and I almost wept with joy at someone wanting simply to touch me.
“Even with my divorce,” he went on, “I’ll have enough from my pension and investments for us to live comfortably. Don’t forget, I didn’t do much of anything my entire married life. I have a lot of living to catch up on.”
A part of me wanted to throw my arms around him and say yes without further thought. I knew I loved him as well, but another part of me held back. “What about my condo?”
“I can move in and take over the payments, or you can sell it and we’ll find our own. We can work that out later.”
It all made sense and sounded like a dream come true. I could sell the condo, pay back Stan and Maggie and live with Terry. The thought should have made me deliriously happy, but still, there was that nigging doubt, a reluctance to agree.
“We need to talk. I’ve told you a little about my marriage, the sex part,” I added in a whisper, making Terry grin. “But when we get home, I’ll tell you what happened after he died. Then, maybe later, we’ll talk about us. You should know, though, I’m not ready to marry anyone yet.”
“Oh, I’m not giving up,” he said, pulling into the driveway east of Bryant Street. He flashed that wicked grin that I loved. “My powers of persuasion are getting better all the time. One thing bothers me, though. I’m going to be worried every time you show a house.”
I told him about Ben’s pepper spray.
“Great idea. Let’s get some. How about this afternoon?”
Laughing, I told him tomorrow was soon enough, especially since I wasn’t planning to show a house anytime soon.
“Well, I don’t want to neglect this. It’s important.”
“Yes, dear,” I sing-songed, yet felt happy that someone cared about my well-being.
