Why he still cared about pleasing her was beyond him. But he had an unexplainable need to look after her and protect her, maybe because her asshole of a husband never stepped up to the plate on that front. She needed someone to take care of her. Most people didn’t even know that about her. She was so good at coming across as cold and in control, but he knew that was only part of her. There was another part that was soft and fragile and needed to be looked after.
James finished cleaning up the bathroom and then got ready to leave. As he passed a mirrored vanity, he saw a card with his name on it above a large flat box. His eyes narrowed as he examined the parcel. He picked up the card and opened it. Written on monogrammed paper was the simple inscription ‘To James’.
She hadn’t even bothered to sign it. He would not have known it was from her except for the embossed M on the bottom of the crisp white sheet. He shook his head. It wasn’t like Megan to be so terse.
From the corner of his eye he saw a scrunched up piece of paper, the only item in the leather dustbin. He took out the paper and read it.
Dear James,
I have been thinking about you. If I am completely honest, I have thought about little else since I last saw you. I am sorry. I wish there was a more eloquent way to say it. The way I acted was horrible and inexcusable. Sadly, that could describe a lot of my interactions with you. Again, all I can do is apologise. I won’t insult you by trying to defend my behaviour.
When you said I was your girlfriend, your first girlfriend, I panicked. And not just for me, I panicked for you. If you want your first anything to be special, don’t share it with me. I will ruin it. I’m sorry your first real relationship could not have been special. I know your next relationship will be, because you are lovely and kind and deserve someone just as wonderful. James Emerson, you are the nicest man I have ever known.
I hope you like the picture. When I saw it at the exhibition, I knew you needed it. I was always scared of being the tree, but it turns out I am the boy who kept taking even when there was nothing left to give.
Love,
Megan the wombat
There was no question; whatever was in the box was meant for him. He could wait and see if Megan ever gave it to him, but if he waited he might never know.
Carefully he opened the lid of the box. He let out a long stream of air when he saw the picture. It was perfect, so simple, so Megan. She remembered. He lifted the drawing and examined the signature of Shel Silverstein in the bottom corner. Megan had bought him a signed illustration from The Giving Tree. The drawing was from the end of the book, when the tree had been cut down and had nothing left to offer the boy—who was now an old man—except a place to sit. A tight pressure squeezed his heart. Was that how she saw herself? The one who could only take? James shook his head as he gently placed the illustration back in the box. She gave so much. She gave her loyalty, her love, her reputation. She gave everything she had. But she had given them to the wrong man.
As quietly as he could James crawled back in bed beside her and held her as she slept. Gently he placed his hand around her waist. He breathed in the clean sweet scent of her hair and listened to her slow deep breaths, thinking about the impossible situation he had found himself in. The easiest part of their relationship was that she was married to another man, from there it got complicated. He could fix the married to the wrong man part. He couldn’t fix her. He couldn’t stop her panic or her need to run from him whenever he got too close. “If you were mine, I would take better care of you,” he whispered into her thick hair, his words lost to the night.
Eventually he realised he needed to leave. He didn’t want to but he had to. Megan would be devastated if the press saw him leaving her house. He suddenly realised that he could stop any pictures from going to print. He had always known it, but it was the first time he had actually considered it. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought back where it belonged. He would never do that. He couldn’t, not even for her. The only thing a man had was his integrity. He wasn’t his father and he would never lie and he would never interfere with the free press.
Chapter Fourteen
Megan stretched her arms above her head as her eyes adjusted to the bright morning light. Her hand absently touched her temples. Her headache was gone.
Thanks to James.
“James,” she sighed. Her heart hurt when she thought about him. She would never be nice enough or good enough for him. Ben was right: it was unbelievable that James had slept with her. Her gaze went to her dresser where the picture was—or where it was meant to be. Megan stood and crossed the room. James must have taken it. She was glad he had. It was for him, she wanted him to have it. She hoped he didn’t think it was silly. When she had seen it, she knew James needed it. Or maybe she needed James to have it, to know how she felt. She was surprisingly inarticulate when it came to explaining precisely how she felt but the simple sketch said it all.
Megan slipped on a pink bathrobe and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. On the marble counter top was a plate with two croissants—one chocolate the other almond—and a note.
Megan unfolded the note as she bit into the almond croissant. So that is what his handwriting looked like—strong and bold, just like him.
Hope you are feeling better, my little wombat. Thank you for the picture. I love it. I now have two things that will come with me when I change continents. When I look at it I will always remember one incredible spring with my first girlfriend—a certain feisty, perfectly bottomed DA.
Love,
James
Megan folded the letter and held it to her chest. She squeezed her lids together until the pressure behind her eyes started to ease.
God, she was so stupid. What was she doing? Circumstance was going to rip them apart soon enough, why was she letting what little time she had with him slip away? She was happy when she was with him. Well, as close to happy as she could ever be. Didn’t she deserve a little happiness?
She lifted the bottom of her robe until it was around her knees so she could run up the stairs without risk of falling. She did not stop running until she reached her bedroom. She grabbed her phone and typed in his number as fast as her fingers would allow.
He answered on the fifth ring. She glanced at the clock and realised it wasn’t even seven. She had probably woken him.
“I’m sorry,” she said when he answered.
“You OK, Megan?” She had woken him. He had the deep raspy voice of a man ripped from sleep.
She nodded. “I’m…” She thought what she was. She was happy, she was grateful, she was scared she was going to ruin things or that James would realise he deserved better. “I’m good. I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you, James.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Megan. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”
Megan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was standing at the edge of a cliff. She could run back or she could jump.
She chose to jump.
“James. Would you like to go for a picnic with me? I know a place along the river where no one will see us… I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together, but if you’re busy… You’re probably busy. I just—”
“Stop talking, woman. I’ll pick you up right after Mass.”
Her eyes flew open. “Mass? You’re Catholic? How did I not know that?” Megan asked, surprised by the information and even more surprised that James went to church at all. She had seen him cross himself once but she assumed he was joking.
“I am. You were too busy using me for my body to care about my soul,” James said. She could hear in his voice that he was smiling.
Megan shook her head as she thought about the numerous ways she had indeed used his body. “Now I feel a bit guilty, defiling a nice Catholic boy.”
James laughed. “First of all I am not a boy and I’m really not as nice as you think I am. And more importantly God doesn’t give a shit about what we do with our genitals. He’s too busy dealing w
ith the universe and all that to worry about our sex life so feel free to defile me in any way you see fit.”
“I can’t decide if that is blasphemous or brilliant.”
“Come to Mass with me. You can decide then.”
Megan nearly said yes before she remembered she really should be seen in her own congregation. Hopefully Ben would make it so she did not have to sit in the front pew alone. Since the scandal broke she could feel the eyes of judgement burning into the back of her neck. “I’ll pick you up after. Say about eleven? I need to go to the store and pick something up for lunch. Any requests?”
“You pick. See you then. And Megan, thanks for calling.”
In the end Megan skipped church; she could live without being stared at by sanctimonious parishioners. She had committed many sins in her life, but strangely enough, not the ones currently being attributed to her. Instead she devoted her morning to shopping and packing a picnic.
She glanced down at her watch. It was only ten minutes later than the last time she looked.
Finally it was time to go and pick up James. She was giddy at the thought of spending time with him. She, Megan McCoy, was giddy. She didn’t even know she had that emotion in her limited repertoire. She could only shake her head at herself. She didn’t know what she was doing. Whatever it was that she and James had was unsustainable. But after last night she didn’t care. James was a decent man who made her feel good. She would let herself enjoy it until the natural conclusion presented itself.
Megan looked behind her once more to make sure the paparazzi were not around before she rang the doorbell.
James smiled down at her from the doorway. His blue pinstripe shirt was rolled to the elbow, exposing the tanned flesh of his muscled forearms. “Looking much brighter, wombat. Glad you’re feeling better.” He turned to lock the door, giving Megan an opportunity to freely ogle his backside.
She could not resist giving his bottom a playful tap. “You’re always looking good, man-whore. That is part of the problem.”
James turned around and smiled; his teeth almost impossibly white against his tan skin. “This man-whore has not had sex since the night you left so if you insist on grabbing my ass, I will drag you back inside and make up for lost time.”
Megan’s skin burned at the prospect. She had missed James, everything about him, his touch, his scent, his easy manner. She could forget herself with him, be the person he thought she was. “Well, if that’s all it takes.” She smiled as she reached around him and grabbed the taut muscles of his butt, pulling him in closer to her.
James shook his head before he gently kissed the tip of her nose. “I am a reformed man-whore. I have not gone this long without sex since I was sixteen. I am going to revel in my new-found virtue.”
Megan’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” she asked dubiously. A relationship without sex?
“Christ no, woman,” he smirked. “Celibacy is not a natural state. We will be sorting that right out.”
Megan did another quick look round for photographers before she pulled James’ head down for a kiss. When her lips met his, her body remembered just how much she had missed him. Despite everything that had happened between them, their bodies did not miss a beat, it was like no time had passed, they were doing what they were made for.
Too soon James pulled away from her, leaving her lips bereft, like they were missing a component vital to their wellbeing. Again he leaned down and gave her a chaste kiss, this time on her forehead. “We’re going to have sex,” James announced confidently. “I apologise in advance because you may not be able to walk properly in the morning.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth so quickly it was like he had never been there. “But we need to talk first.”
Megan let out a stream of air. He meant talk about feelings. There were few things worse than talking about feelings, the only one she could think of was actually feeling them.
James’ dark brows knit together. “YouOK? You have the look you get before you run.”
Megan shook her head. She wished he didn’t do that, have the ability to read her mind, or at least read her body. It was uncanny and more than a little off putting. She had to ask, “How can you tell when I am lying?”
James slipped his house keys into his pocket and reached for her hand. “You hesitate and then look to the left. Every time.”
Megan followed him to her car. Did she do that? Why had no one ever noticed that before? “Why did you tell me? Now I know to stare straight ahead and speak as quickly as I can.”
James climbed into the passenger side. The seat was too far forward to accommodate his long legs. Even after he put the seat all the way back, he looked uncomfortable, his size dwarfing her compact car to comical levels. “I like to think we are past lying. I never lie to you Megan. I hope you trust me enough to do the same.”
Megan turned away from him. She pretended to look over her shoulder to check for oncoming traffic. Did she trust him? The only answer she had was a cold knot in the pit of her stomach. If she was more intuitive or did not run from emotion she might be able to read her own body the way James read her face and know exactly how she felt. James would never physically hurt her, she knew that, and anything beyond that was academic because he would never get the opportunity to hurt her. In that respect their cards had always been on the table. He was doing a story on her, on Ben, no matter what. He had been honest. She trusted that.
They drove to the river. Once they parked it was a twenty minute hike. She picked the spot because it was perfectly secluded and because she had always wanted to share it with someone. She had discovered it running one morning. Along the shore of the river was an enclave of huge flat rocks, like a balcony suspended above the water below. Behind them there was nothing but dense trees and above them a field of bright blue sky. If she believed in a god, she would be inclined to believe he had created this space especially because it was too perfect to have happened by accident.
She had told Ben that they should have a picnic there sometime, but it had never happened. He had always been so busy. And now she wasn’t sure she would want to bring him here anyway. She shared everything with Ben but this place was something just for James. Something she could look back on once they had both moved on.
Megan shook off the sudden sentimentality and laid out the thick blue and white check blanket over the smooth rock. She set down the hamper and unpacked the contents. She had brought pastrami sandwiches courtesy of her favourite kosher deli as well as grapes, brie cheese, an artichoke quiche, and sparkling apple cider.
“Looks great. I won’t ask if you made anything. I know you don’t cook.” James smiled as he reached for a grape and popped it into his mouth.
“I did a lot of cooking growing up actually; it was just horrible. My specialty was Top Ramen with frozen vegetables, cheese and Heinz 57 sauce. I know it sounds awful but my brothers loved it and it covered the basic food groups. I am counting starch and MSG as food groups by the way.” Megan unfolded the white waxy deli paper of her sandwich.
“Sounds like my kind of food pyramid, as long as the base is made of alcohol and red meat.”
Megan shook her head. “How do you stay so fit? You have a far nicer body than you deserve.”
James shrugged his shoulders. “Genetics? My height might help too.”
Megan nodded her head in agreement. There was no room for fat on his body because every square inch of his 6’4” frame was covered in rock-hard muscle and sinew. She marvelled again how she could feel so at ease with someone who could inflict limitless amounts of pain if he chose.
James popped another grape in his mouth. When he swallowed he said, “I love cooking. My grandmother taught me. She was first generation Australian. Her parents emigrated from Sardinia.”
“You’re Italian? That makes sense, it explains your colouring. Was that Myrtle who you are naming your daughter after? Myrtle doesn’t sound very Italian.”
James smiled. “You remember about Adelaide?”
Megan nodded. “Yes, I remember you want to name your daughter after the serial killer capital of Australia. Apparently they also have the worst water quality in the country.”
James held up his hands in defeat as he grinned. “How do you even know that? It is also the city of churches too. Did you know that?”
Megan shook her head. She had indeed read that but she didn’t want him to think she had taken that keen an interest. She had had a moment of weakness after she left, where she tortured herself by looking up everything she could find about him. She thought it would be cathartic but it was just excruciating, a reminder of just how emotionally incompetent she was. She shook off the memory and changed the subject to neutral territory “So how did your Italian grandma end up being called Myrtle?”
“My great-grandparents wanted a proper Australian-sounding name so they bought a name book. Unfortunately they bought it in a secondhand shop and it was dated from the turn of the century. Immigrants, what can you do?” James smiled.
Megan opened the sparkling cider and poured a glass for James and then for herself. “It’s not just immigrants that name their children unusual things. When I first started working in DC, I had a client with a baby girl called Meconium.”
“No?!” James said dubiously.
“Yes, and it was even spelled correctly so at some point she would have had to look it up, because trust me she would not have known how to spell it, and yet she did not realise she had essentially named her daughter ‘first poop’. Compared to that, Myrtle is a beautiful name.”
James nodded his head in agreement. “I suppose it is all about perspective.”
“It really is. Compared to the people I prosecute I am sweetness and light.”
“You are sweet, Megan.”
Megan nearly spat out a mouthful of pastrami. She had not been called sweet since she left school. Her report cards always commented on how kindhearted and maternal she was. That was before she took control of her life.
Dirty Little Secrets Page 17
