by Robyn Carr
“I’d like to get her married and out of here so we can get things back to normal,” Kate said.
“Things have never been normal around here,” Abby said.
“But I know that girl. I was married to her father,” Jess went on. “She needs a simple, steady, reliable man like John. Believe me, I know. That’s what her father needed—a stable, sensible, ordinary person who could keep track of that wonderful, wandering mind. Who would know that better than me?”
“Are we going to play bridge or what?”
Six
Leigh did a couple of weeks’ worth of serious reading and writing while the yard continued to develop into Jess’s idea of a backyard paradise. She always found a few minutes to spare to chat with John, and he became something of a fixture at their dinner table. Then he asked her to meet him again at their old haunt, the Steak House, and she found herself as giddy as a teenager over the prospect of more hugging and kissing. So this is why most teenagers couldn’t concentrate on their math, she thought. To Jess she said, “I might be late.”
“You like him, then?”
“I like him fine,” Leigh replied. I’m absolutely wacko, she thought.
He met her at the front door of the restaurant. “I want to show you something,” he said. “Do you feel safe enough to come to my house with me?”
“Are you going to behave yourself?” she asked.
“Maybe, maybe not. That’s up to you.”
She thought about it and decided that when she had first met him she was a fifteen-year-old emotionally, which meant she’d been thinking with her libido. Now she figured she was at least twenty years old emotionally and could add brains to her already breathless libido. She went.
John had a house in town that he’d been working on, part-time, for about three years. “I want you to see it. I want to show you how I think it’ll shape up over the years.”
“It’s lovely,” she said as they pulled up to the curb in front. It was quintessentially small-town, with its front porch and white picket fence. A family house, was her first thought. Her second thought was, there’s no one here but us, and my brain is going out the window. But fear began to run away as John talked about his house.
“It’s fifty-five years old. I knocked out the wall that separated the living room from the dining room to make more space. I’m working on a new kitchen, but since I don’t do a lot of cooking for myself, it’s been slow going. I’m a good cook, though. Did you know that?”
She hadn’t.
He pulled her along. He opened the refrigerator door and withdrew a bottle of wine. “I plan to replace this fridge with a subzero one that has matching cabinetry. And a built-in microwave, new stove and, rather than this old-fashioned pantry, I’m going to build out into the back porch, put in a bay window and have a breakfast nook.”
He planned more shelves than cupboards, and showed her a picture of a country French kitchen that seemed to have a spirit of good food and community. She began to envision it.
“The attic is unfinished,” he went on, digging in a drawer for a corkscrew. “There are two bedrooms upstairs, and I’m going to open up the staircase, build a couple of dormer windows and an outdoor staircase to the yard. It’s a small yard, but with a covered patio and some landscaping, it’ll be beautiful. Come on,” he said, abandoning the wine and taking her out the back door.
There was an old two-car garage with a peaked roof. “I’m going to enlarge the garage and build on a workshop. There’ll be storage up top, the workshop out back, and separate garage doors.” He led her back inside. “I’m going to tile where there’s linoleum and refinish the hardwood floors. And the front porch—now it’s small.” He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one. “Come on,” he said, taking her back to the living room. He had a curved sofa that sat before an old-fashioned fireplace. No TV, but a fancy stereo unit. He pointed to the window, outside of which was the front porch. “I’m going to make it larger and screen it, and that will give me more space to enlarge the upstairs.”
“It’s wonderful,” she said, sipping her wine. “How long have you been working on it?”
“A few years,” he said. “I’ve been doing a little here and there, but I haven’t done a lot of serious work yet. I can do a lot of the cabinet work myself, but for an addition I’ll need a bona fide builder and a permit. I’m just getting serious about it. It has to be a lot larger than it is. I wasn’t going to finish the attic, but now I’m going to make sure it will hold two bedrooms with a bathroom in between. I thought about fixing it up to sell it—and now I’m thinking of fixing it up to live in it. It’s pretty messy, huh?”
“Just sawdust,” she said. “I’m the messy one—I can have a completely finished house and still it’s a disaster. I’m getting better, but I never had to do much of that myself while I was growing up. But now Jess is beginning to really get testy about my messiness.”
“Look at this,” he said, leading her to the upstairs hall. It was a short hall with one bathroom between two bedrooms. Tacked to the wall were pictures torn from magazines of bedrooms, a bathroom, linen closets. The bathroom picture showed an old tub with feet, an antique linen cupboard and baskets holding rolled-up, multi-colored towels. One bedroom picture showed a canopy bed of brushed pine, built-in dressers, and flowered wallpaper with a matching bedspread.
“Try to picture this in there,” he said, pointing to the clawfoot tub and then indicating the open bathroom door. The room definitely resembled the picture. And the bedroom had the built-ins done, but the canopied bed was not yet there.
“It’s lovely, John. You’ve already resurfaced these floors.”
“That rug was my grandmother’s,” he said proudly.
“You’re really an artist,” she said. So much more than a handyman, more than a Mr. Fix-it. There was real skill and imagination in this. The house surprised her. She had never given that much thought to her surroundings. She had always lived well, but she had never put energy into creating her own space.
“The elementary school is in the neighborhood. There’s a playground at the end of the block.”
“When did you decide to make it larger?” she asked.
“About three weeks ago. Leigh... ” he began, struggling with the right words. “We’re nothing alike. Nothing. I’m not even sure we want the same things. But...I tried marrying someone just like me. Someone who just wanted to play all the time and wasn’t worried about the future, about families. It was awful... We were barely out of the wedding chapel before we were fighting. And what about you? You married yourself a genius who was so wrapped up in work he didn’t have time for anything else in his life.”
“What are you saying, John?”
“Well, I’m not very good at this.” He laughed with some embarrassment. “I don’t know how to say it. You’ve only been back a few weeks. This is hard. I want you in my life. I can’t stand it when you’re not in my life. I want to know if we can make it work. People put together different kinds of marriages now, different from how they were in the fifties and sixties. It used to be that you had to have the same goals, the same ambitions, or you just couldn’t make it. We’ve talked about how you love your work and how I love to play...I wonder if it’s possible, if we try to compromise, for us both to have what we want and each other, too.”
“I’m a mother. When I look at the prospect of having a man in my life, I have to know if he’s interested in being a father.”
“I like your boys,” he said.
Now. Tell him now.
“I don’t know what kind of a father I’d be, but I know I wouldn’t be a terrible one. I get along fine with kids. But I’m not going to lie to you—I wouldn’t be hooking up with you just so I can have kids. It’s you, Leigh. I never got over you. I might never get over you. I don’t get along very well without you. I reall
y regret that we lost each other before.”
“We never had a real courtship,” she said, but he was leaning toward her, his lips getting closer and closer. They stood just in front of the bedroom door.
“I’ll court you till you die...I promise...” His lips touched hers lightly, as if just testing the water. “I could get a lot of work done on the house this summer, and put you and the kids in it... You could vacuum sawdust when you’re not saving the world with your ethics paper.”
When he put his lips on hers and talked through his kiss, her legs turned to rubber and she felt that fierce longing that she had only known with John.
“John,” she said, stalling, but she didn’t move away from him, “have there been a lot of women?”
“You mean, do I sleep around?”
“I guess that’s what I mean.”
“No. After our breakup I did try to find someone who would help me forget you...but I couldn’t. And in the tradition of the decade, I played it very safe. It’s a whole new ball game—you have to keep a photocopy of your sexual history in your ski jacket, along with a note from your doctor. I’m okay. Soft in the head, but okay.”
“You love me,” she said, tears beginning to rise to her eyes.
“Uh-huh, I do. And don’t think I didn’t try to find another way. After you left and my marriage went belly-up, I tried to change everything. I tried to read smart books, but all I got from that was a lot of sleep.”
Her laugh bubbled out, but she moved closer into his embrace. He moved into the bedroom and put his wine on the built-in dresser. His arms tightened as he held her, rocking with her. She sat her glass beside his so she could hold him, then kissed him deeply. She didn’t want to stop kissing, but he was talking.
“Then I tried to concentrate on business, because if I couldn’t be smart, I’d be rich. I kept trying to find a way to deserve you, even if you were gone. But I couldn’t stay interested in getting rich. This is all I am, Leigh. I’m Mr. Fix-it. It’s what I want to be.”
“And I went away to try to learn how to be ‘regular.’ My lessons were as hard as yours... I had to learn to relax. I had to learn to think of ordinary things. There’s nothing like a real ripe diaper pail to help you face reality.”
“You love me,” he said, burying his face in her neck.
“Uh-huh, I do,” she said. “I always have. What are we going to do?”
“We got a second chance, babe. We’re gonna try it. That’s all we can do. Remember that last fight we had—the one where I said ‘Good. Go’? Well, it’s gonna take a much bigger fight than that to get me to let go of you again.”
Now. Tell him now.
“About the boys... ”
“Not now,” he said. “They’ll be fine if we can work this out. They like me.”
“I think they’re already nuts about you, John, and... ”
But she couldn’t keep talking and kissing at the same time. This was what she had dreamed of so many nights—waking up with that gasping, choking feeling that was a prelude to tears. She had truly thought there would never be a way to feel this again. Not with him. Not with anyone.
John covered her with kisses, his lips roving from her neck to her ear, from her chin to her fingertips. The only sound from Leigh was a deep, enormous sigh of recognition, of longing. The only difference between the way she had always wanted him and the way she wanted him now was the proximity. Her body was beginning to respond in that wonderful way; her nipples stood taut, and her insides gathered up in a tight, luscious knot, ready to explode. The warmth of his body against hers, the pressure of his hands on her back, her buttocks, her breasts, brought such intense joy that she forgot where she was, who she was.
“I used to think about kissing you again,” he said, cradling her in his arms. “I thought about it at the weirdest times. I’m starting to believe that old myth that there’s a perfect mate for every man.”
“Are you saying you want to marry me, John?”
“I don’t want to be stupid, and I don’t want to mess anything up. You’ve only been back a little while...but does it count as a proposal if I tell you I want to head in that direction?”
“I think so,” she said, tasting his ear, his neck. She tugged his shirt out of his pants and ran the palms of her hands up his chest. His skin was hot and dry; his nipples were pointed little knobs.
His hands tugged her shirt out of her pants. His lips demanded of hers, and his breathing became labored. “I want you in the worst way. Can we? Is it okay?”
Details, details. She was going to faint if he didn’t undress her right away.
“We can,” she said.
“Do you use something? We don’t want any accidents.”
Damn. “Oh, John... ” she sighed. “When I thought about coming back here...I thought you were married.”
He chuckled against her neck. “You won’t get out of it that easily,” he said. “Turn around,” he directed. She did; she would have stood on her head right now if that was what he wanted from her. He began undoing her long braid. “I figured you hadn’t covered that,” he said, digging his fingers into her hair and fanning it wide. “You never did think about the practical aspect of things, so I went to the drugstore.”
“Hoping?” she asked.
He sighed from his toes. “I’ve been hoping since I saw you again. Am I rushing you?” he asked, turning her back to face him. She shook her head as he slowly lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. “I can’t get close enough to you. I can’t leave you alone. Sue me.” He reached around her and unsnapped her bra. “Ahhhh,” he said. “You’re so perfect.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back while he touched her breasts with his mouth. At the same time he popped the snap on her jeans, and when he raised his head again he ripped off his shirt in one perfect, fluid motion. And held her. Skin against skin. The soft, hot press of bodies. She shuddered slightly in anticipation and ground her body into his. How she had longed to have this part of her life back.
“This isn’t going to last long,” he whispered, his voice jagged and raspy. “The next time will last longer.”
“I don’t care,” she said, her own voice strange to her. There was something, she remembered as she ditched her jeans and underwear, about feeling out of control that was so wonderfully alluring. She couldn’t stop him any more than she could stop herself. Maybe if she didn’t know how finely tuned their bodies were she could have controlled herself. But the feeling that she had no power over her desires made her head spin and her body tremble.
While kissing her, fondling her, touching her in the most delicious ways, he also undressed himself, lowered her to the rug and found the protection he had purchased. She said a tiny, guilty prayer of thanks that he was sensible, because she herself was positively brain dead from lust.
His hand moved down her belly, over her mound of curly yellow hair, and his fingers gently spread her to touch her most delicate, sensitive place.
She shook from within, her legs instinctively tightening over his hand, her hips instinctively arching upward. Her breath came in one giant gasp, which he covered with his mouth and tongue while he pressed his hand harder into her flesh. Slowly, slowly, she came back, her eyes closed, her breath becoming even. He rose above her and looked into her eyes.
“Well, love, I don’t have to feel guilty if I can’t spend a lot of time inside you. I’m on the edge myself.”
She only nodded, flooded with heat and passion. She opened herself up so that he could press himself inside her, and then a new sensation filled her. She loved this; she loved him. He moved, slowly and evenly, picking up speed and moving faster, and she began again, that build and rise. And just as she felt him lunge within, it happened again. Again, she was drenched in pleasure, flooded with heat.
In a half-dazed
state, stroking his back and massaging his shoulders, she remembered back...way back...to their first time. She’d had so little experience when John made love to her the first time. And it had been like this before—his touch alone could propel her into ecstasy. She recalled thinking, “Wow, this is great!” like a kid who’d just discovered chocolate.
Now, however, she already knew how great this was. This time there was something more she had to deal with, think about.
“John?” she began.
“Mmmmm?”
“John, about the boys... ”
He kissed her lips. “I’m crazy about the boys, Leigh. I’ll adopt them, play with them, be as good a dad as I can...whatever you want.”
“But, John, I want to tell you about the boys.”
“Not now, Leigh,” he said, kissing her ear, her neck, her breast. “We have a lifetime to talk about the boys and their future siblings. Right now is for you and me. We have to be sure, in and out of bed, that we want each other. I learned a couple of things in the past few years. I learned that there’s only one way to really deserve you. I’m going to accept you exactly as you are, not try to live up to your brilliance. If you just say that I’m what you want—you’ll get just the me you see.”
“That’s the you I want,” she whispered.
Seven
It was lunch break for the crew, and Leigh sat up on the redwood deck with a cup of decaf and a book. The landscaping and building was nearly done; most of the guys had gone to get some fast food, but John had stayed behind to play a little catch with the boys. He had also stayed because Jess had offered him a bowl of her famous vegetable soup and a garden salad. And because he was planning to make a life with Leigh and the boys, if it was possible. At the moment, it looked more than possible.
“Are you playing matchmaker?” Leigh had asked her mother the week before.
“Well, yes, I suppose I am. My grandsons need a man in their lives. Bring me someone you like better and I’ll stop working on John.”
