Yes, it had beautiful original hardwood floors. Yes, in addition to an expansive backyard it also had three large bedrooms and an unfinished basement they could eventually turn into more bedrooms or a family room. Yes, it was just across the street from a beautiful park with playgrounds where they could take Felix in the summer. But it also had worn linoleum floors, dated cabinets, yellow appliances in the kitchen, and pink tiles all over the bathroom, complete with pink toilet and sink! The walls had probably been white fifty years ago, but now they looked somewhere between brown and yellow. Someone, at some point, had obviously been a heavy smoker. It would take deep cleaning, odor-blocking primer and a whole lot of fresh paint to make this house anywhere close to decent. And that was just a beginning. The kitchen and bathroom renovations would have to wait because of lack of funds, of course, and who knew for how long.
“Marielle, can you tell us where you want these boxes?” Sam asked with irritation, as if Marielle should have anticipated it.
“The room where each box belongs is written right on it, Sam.” She sighed, annoyed.
“Oh yeah, I see now. Look at that, Sam: kitchen. That little woman of yours sure is organized.”
Sam took the box from his father’s arms and walked heavily toward the kitchen without saying a word, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge he’d overlooked something so evident or worse, that his wife was right. She would only be too happy to rub it in his face later.
Marielle smiled and winked at Robert on her way back to the U-Haul to grab a box, grateful for his support and ashamed of the discomfort she and Sam were causing him with their constant bickering. She wondered when they’d started talking to each other that way. It seemed now as though it had been forever, but she knew better. She remembered they’d been loving and caring when they first met in high school. They’d laughed together, and they’d been excited when they made plans for their future, when they married and when they bought the duplex. They had wanted Felix with all of their beings, had been so happy when he was born and they became parents at the age of twenty-two. She could still see Sam standing nervously by her side when they placed a chubby Felix on her stomach in the delivery room. He looked like a kid himself in that moment, but she had complete faith in him. She knew they would be just fine. And they were.
Nothing really bad had happened. They hadn’t cheated on each other; Felix had never been seriously ill; they hadn’t even gone through the loss of a parent yet. Hers had moved to Sherbrooke for her father’s work, but they often made the two-hour drive to visit their daughter and only grandchild. Samuel Pomerleau and Marielle Demers had every reason to be happy. They weren’t rich, but they were blessed in every way that counted. They went to work, raised their son the best they could, paid their bills. And they argued. They didn’t even fight, really. They didn’t yell or throw things at each other. That would require a passion they didn’t seem to have. They’d just grown more and more annoyed with each other. She couldn’t pinpoint why or when that had happened, and that was the most frustrating part of it all. She would fix the couch because she knew where the fabric was torn and she could stitch it back together. But how could she fix something if she didn’t know how it was broken?
As she climbed the ramp into the truck, she automatically looked toward the spot in the driveway where her son was playing—a quick motherly check. When she didn’t see him there with his trucks, panic took over before she even had time to look around and died just as quickly when she saw him playing with a little white dog in their neighbor’s yard. It looked like dog and child were taking turns chasing each other, and Felix was laughing, having a great time. She smiled as she always did when she saw that pure joy in him. It seemed so simple. She looked to see who might be the dog’s owner and smiled again when she saw the blonde supervising the games taking place in her yard.
The woman seemed friendly enough, but she looked worried, not taking her eyes off the dog and Felix for even a second. Marielle took advantage of the woman’s fixation to observe her. Her golden hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail. Also simple were her clothes: long, gray workout pants and a blue V-neck sweatshirt tightly fitting an athletic body. Even from a distance Marielle could see her eyes were light blue. Her skin was pale, but a touch of red on her high-set cheekbones showed she’d probably been in the sun all morning. Her features looked Scandinavian, she guessed, which was rare in this region. She was strikingly beautiful, and Marielle suddenly felt painfully self-conscious in her size 14 jeans. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage and started crossing the lawn that separated their homes, dutifully on a mission to retrieve her son and save her new neighbor from the distress the six-year-old seemed to be causing her.
* * *
Audrey was both frightened and fascinated by the scene being played out right in front of her in her own yard. Frightened because Ralph had never been around children before, so she was watching for any sign of aggression on his part, not even sure what those signs might be as he’d never been aggressive with anyone to this day. She also knew deep down her tiny dog couldn’t cause much damage, but her head was full of horrible stories about young children being unexpectedly bitten by dogs. These accidents invariably resulted in the disfiguration of the child, and the dog owner being forced by law to have their crazed animal euthanized. She was ready to stop it from happening at any cost.
She was fascinated, on the other hand, because the same dog who could barely get the concept of fetching a ball and bringing it back to her was now participating in a chasing game with a child he didn’t know, understanding when it was his turn to chase or be chased as if he’d been playing this game forever.
Distracted by something entering her peripheral vision, she turned to come face-to-face with a woman walking toward her, the same woman she’d covertly observed earlier. A blush instantly spread across her face as she finally took in the whole picture.
Natural red highlights gave depth and richness to her dark hair. Subtle freckles on her cheeks gave her a healthy, earthy glow. Her eyes were dark, almost black, with the same never-ending eyelashes her son had undoubtedly inherited from her. Audrey had to force her gaze to stay at eye level when she noticed the red, hooded sweatshirt was unzipped just enough to reveal part of the cleavage between full, perfectly round breasts where more freckles were showcased. It had been so long since a woman had this kind of effect on Audrey that she barely recognized the tingling in her stomach. She returned the woman’s genuine smile and forgot all about the dog and the child playing in her yard.
“Bonjour—” the woman started.
“Elle parle pas français,” Felix offered before his mother could finish her greeting. He ran to them and continued with pride, looking at Audrey, “I told her you don’t speak French.”
Audrey chuckled nervously. “Did you? Thanks, buddy.” She ruffled the boy’s hair awkwardly, hoping she looked more at ease than she felt, before bringing her attention back to his mother. “I’m afraid he’s right. Do you speak English?”
“Oh, yes, of course. But please forgive my accent.”
Audrey smiled, thinking there was nothing to forgive at all. The accent was adorable, and if this woman got any sexier she would be in deep trouble. Get a hold of yourself, you idiot, she chided herself. “Oh good. I wasn’t sure because your son said his dad is the one who taught him?”
“Yes, well, Sam, that’s my husband, he spent his childhood in Connecticut, so his English is much better than mine. He speaks to Felix in English, and I speak to him in French. It was very important to us that he learns both languages.”
Audrey couldn’t take the stupid grin off her face. She could listen to the woman talk all day. Connecticut had never sounded as exotic as when she said it, pronouncing each syllable and each letter: Con-nek-tee-cut. “I see. That makes sense. And what language do you speak with each other?”
“That’s a good question,” Marielle answered with a chuckle. “Sorry, French. We speak French to each other. My nam
e is Marielle Demers, by the way.”
Audrey let the way the French name rolled off Marielle’s tongue make its way through her entire body as she took the extended hand to shake it. “Audrey Eriksson. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. And I think you’ve already met my son, Felix. I hope he’s not bothering you too much.”
“Oh no, not at all,” she lied. “Felix and my dog were just getting acquainted.”
“His name is Walph, Mom. He’s so cool.”
And just like that, the boy ran away from the adults, and the dog followed. Audrey watched them go back to their chasing game, and when she turned to Marielle again, she caught her amused yet inquisitive look. “Walph?”
Audrey laughed. “Well, it’s Ralph, but seeing how he seems to do everything your son wants, I think I may start calling him Walph myself.”
They laughed together, and it felt strangely comfortable. As their laughter subsided, she saw another question take shape in Marielle’s mind before she even opened her mouth. “Eriksson. Is that Swedish?”
“Originally, yes, but I’m American. My family’s been in the States for so many generations, I couldn’t even tell you what part of Sweden we came from. I’m from Brunswick, actually, on the coast of Maine.”
“Oh yeah, that’s close to Freeport, right? We go shopping down there once or twice a year.”
“Great outlets.”
“Exactly.”
They both smiled. Audrey let her gaze wander to the full lips and the white teeth, perfection that the slight overlap between the top incisors only made more perfect. “So what brought you up here?”
The question interrupted Audrey’s thorough inspection of Marielle’s exquisite mouth, and, afraid she’d been caught staring, she spoke nervously. “Work. Well, the company I work for is located in New York City, but we have a partner factory here, so I moved up here. I work from home, though, not from the factory. I really love it here.”
None of her babbling seemed to make any sense to Marielle, judging by her confused frown, but she didn’t ask her to explain. Instead, she nodded and looked over her shoulder and indicated the log cabin with a movement of her chin. “Nice chalet,” she said.
Audrey uselessly turned to look at her own house, as if she didn’t know what Marielle was referring to. On the same salary that forced her to live with two roommates in Manhattan, she only needed three years in St. Georges to come up with a down payment on her cabin. She’d fallen in love with the square logs, the steep roof, the stonework on the facade and most of all the large windows looking out on the park. “Thank you. It’s small, but cozy. And it’s plenty big enough for me and Walph.”
Marielle laughed again, and Audrey took foolish pride in making the woman laugh. A perfectly fulfilling purpose for someone to spend her life on, she mused.
Marielle didn’t look as though she wanted to go, or was that just wishful thinking? But she nevertheless pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the bungalow and announced, “Okay, well, I better go back to those boxes. There are so many. It was really very nice to meet you, Audrey.”
“Same here. Welcome to the neighborhood.” They shook hands again, and Audrey realized she held on to the warmth longer than necessary.
Marielle smiled and turned to her son, who was still running around with Ralph. “Come on, Felix, let’s go.”
“But Mom!”
He dragged the word over several syllables, which had no effect whatsoever on Marielle. “I said let’s go.”
The boy patted his new best friend’s head and started running after his mother, followed by the small, white dog.
“Ralph, you stay here!” Audrey shook her head at her own complete lack of authority when the dog kept running away and reached inside her pocket. She held the dog biscuit in front of her and yelled again, “You want a treat?”
The dog immediately turned around and ran to her. She let him have the biscuit and picked him up before he had a chance to escape again. She watched Marielle and Felix make their way to their front door, shamelessly admiring the way Marielle’s ample bottom swayed left and right, and waved back when the woman stopped to look at her and wave with a smile before disappearing inside the house.
Audrey put the dog back on the ground and let him walk behind her through their own front door. Once inside, she muttered to herself, “Audrey Eriksson, you are a pathetic idiot. Get your hormones under control and your eyes back into their sockets, will you?” She grunted with frustration and looked down at the dog staring back at her. “What are you looking at, you silly mutt, huh?”
He yawned and left her to go curl up on a large, square pillow by the fireplace. Apparently, playing with a six-year-old was an exhausting enterprise.
Chapter Two
Sam put the plates, glasses and silverware in the dishwasher while Marielle filled the sink with hot, soapy water to clean the few pots and pans she preferred washing by hand to preserve. They still looked brand-new after eight years of use since her parents had given them to her when she and Sam first moved in together.
Marielle had been up since three thirty a.m. She’d worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, picked up Felix from school, helped him with his homework, cooked a basic meal of hamburger meat, mashed potatoes, and broccoli and was now finishing up the dishes with Sam. It was a little after six p.m., and her feet were killing her. She was scheduled for a regular eight-hour shift tomorrow, so she would roast a large chicken. She would serve it with rice and vegetables for one meal and would keep the rest to make a couple of chicken pot pies she could keep in the freezer for days like today. There were plenty of them. Since they’d purchased the house, she worked three twelve-hour shifts a week. She didn’t have to, they could make it without the overtime, but the extra money helped her keep her head above water. She would have to stop by the grocery store, though, because she needed carrots for the pot pies and Felix was out of snacks for school.
She was busy making a mental list when Sam rested his hand on her shoulder. Marielle tensed up instantly. Her reaction wasn’t voluntary and she forced herself to relax right away, but too late; Sam dropped his hand before resuming his task of drying the pots and pans with a dish towel. He sighed heavily. The usual mix of guilt and relief flooded her again as it did every time Sam attempted to get close and she refused him. He was occasionally humiliated but always peeved by her rejection. Sometimes, like today, her dismissal came from a knee-jerk reaction of her body. Other times she had to plead that she was too tired or preoccupied. She’d even faked a few headaches, a fact that certainly didn’t make her proud. She wondered if he would ever stop trying and if she would care if he did, refusing to admit she already knew the answer to the latter question.
She couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love, and she didn’t miss it at all. That was hard enough to concede. She wasn’t ready to accept that she could go through the rest of her life without ever needing Sam’s physical affection again. The fact she’d given up on sex at the age of twenty-eight made her feel heartbroken. And, mostly, guilty. Sam deserved better. He was so handsome. She let her gaze wander over the nicely defined biceps under his favorite T-shirt, sporting the blue, red and white colors of the Montreal Canadiens. She grinned at the untamable, thick, dark hair, the enigmatic hazel eyes and the overall bad-boy looks that inexplicably left her cold. In high school, all her friends were jealous because she was the lucky one who got attention from the new hunk in town. She remembered feeling as though she’d won the lottery. What would her friends think now?
Of course, Sam’s qualities went way beyond his good looks. He was hardworking, a good husband, and a wonderful father to Felix. He’d also used to be funny and so sweet. It wasn’t fair to him that he was now this shell of a man, denied from caressing his wife in his own kitchen. Then again, it wasn’t fair to her, either. She’d changed too. She could barely recognize herself. Even physically. She’d gained weight, and she looked tired all the time. She hated to look i
n a mirror these days. Her reflection betrayed too much of her own emptiness.
Sam finished putting the pots and pans away in the cupboards while she drained the sink and proceeded to clean it and the counter with a dishcloth. She’d already taken care of the stove before they sat at the table. Yes, they still managed to sit at the table to share a meal, but the conversation was always between Felix and his mother or between Felix and his father. Never between them, unless it was a detail they had to share about the house, their son or work, like “I’ll be late tomorrow because I’m working overtime” or “don’t forget I’m taking Felix to his dentist appointment.”
Sam disappeared for a few seconds before returning with a large gym bag. “I won’t be late.”
She looked away and kept wiping the counter. “Would you tell Felix it’s time to come in?” He grunted what she took as a yes and slammed the door, not out of anger but just because that was the way he always closed a door. She cringed. Sam played hockey with his friends every Tuesday night, but tonight was the last of the season. She planned on taking advantage of his absence to bathe Felix right away and put him to bed early so she could enjoy her own bubble bath complete with scented candles. The full home-spa experience. She needed it so much.
She heard Sam’s pickup truck drive off, and the door slammed again, albeit not quite as hard. Like father, like son. “Felix, what did I tell you about slamming the door?”
“Sorry, Mom.” His apology was as automatic and insincere as her scolding. She couldn’t help but smile at him and ruffled the hair growing in several different directions on his head, as thick and as rebellious as his dad’s.
“Time for your bath, my little punk.”
First Fall Page 2
