He jogged inside the store and apologized again to Caroline for having to return that very important phone call.
Chapter 9
Maybe it had something to do with watching an episode of Biker Build-off with him. Perhaps it was because she was comfortable with him, comfortable enough to do anything. Whatever it was, somehow Will had persuaded her to climb on the back of his motorcycle for a short ride to Quincy’s.
Only now, after she had pulled on a leather jacket and a helmet with a built-in wireless speaker and microphone, Caroline had second thoughts. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a great idea,’ she said.
‘You’ll be fine. We’ll just zip over there and I’ll drop this off,’ he said, stuffing an envelope into a black pouch that looked like an old Pony Express saddlebag. He straddled the seat, his leather pants making a creaking noise, and he held the bike steady. He offered his arm. ‘We’ll be fine, Caroline. Trust me.’
Pulling down the helmet’s visor, Caroline took his sturdy arm and swung a tentative leg over the seat to settle in behind his back. It was instantly claustrophobic. Heart ka-thumping, perched on the pillion, the big bike wasn’t even moving, and she waited for the panic attack to set in, but William didn’t give her time.
The bike came to life with a throaty rumble. Two seconds later, he pulled away from the driveway, and she squeezed her thighs together, careful to keep her feet out of the way of the long chrome muffler pipes. Two seconds after that, she dug her chin into his shoulder, wrapped her arms high under his armpits, and her fingers wove together in desperate prayer.
Will stopped the bike. His black-booted foot came down on the pavement. He turned and smiled at her through the visor of his helmet. One gloved hand reached back to rest on her thigh and he spoke over the rumble of the motorcycle’s engine, ‘Okay, Squirt, listen,’ he said, the sound coming through the speaker in her helmet. ‘Please put your arms around my waist. It’s easier to steer if you’re against my back instead of under my arms. Follow my body as I move, but if you see me come off the bike unbuckle your fingers or else you’ll be dragged along with me or the bike, all right?’
She nodded.
He patted her leg and then moved into traffic.
She clung to him, hating that the helmet wouldn’t let her bury her face in the leather on his back. ‘This jacket I’m wearing isn’t safe, is it?’ she said. ‘Maybe we should do this when I have a better leather jacket, one more like yours instead of a crappy, thin, leather blazer and a pair of jeans. I need big boots like yours too. I need combat boots and a flak jacket. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this. I want to get off.’
‘Don’t we all?’
‘I don’t think this is going to excite me to that point.’
‘Give it a minute or two. You’ll love it.’
‘What if I don’t? Can you slow down a little?’
‘I’m not even doing fifteen miles an hour. Are you really scared?’
‘Scared? No William, I’m petrified.’ Caroline dug her fingers into his jacket, hard, trying to get through the leather and into his skin. They went over a small dip in the road and she rose up off the seat almost the same way she did on a roller coaster, which made her want to wrap her legs around him and hang on like a koala gripping a tree.
‘You’re perfectly safe with me,’ he said.
‘I am?’
‘Of course you are. You can trust me.’
‘This is an issue of safety, not trust.’
‘Tell me something, did I accost you the other night?’
She said, ‘What night?’
‘The other night, when we slept on the couch, did I make an inappropriate move?’
‘No.’
‘I had ample opportunity, didn’t I?’
‘How would I know? I was fast asleep.’
‘You know I was the perfect gentleman you think I am, but to be honest I let you believe I was asleep. In reality I had you cuddled to my chest like my old little white sock monkey. It’s been a while since I simply slept with a woman, and I enjoyed it. It was a prime, grade-A, first class, top-drawer way to snooze. You were pressing yourself against me, snuggling up, and don’t think it didn’t turn me on. It did.’
‘What?’ Caroline had liked it too. A lot. She just wasn’t game to say it like he just had.
‘Did it turn you on too?’
‘Did it what?’
He laughed. ‘Come on. I know the headset works; you can hear me. Don’t be coy, Caroline. Did you dig sleeping with me as much I dug sleeping with you?’
‘Did I dig it? What year is this Will, nineteen sixty-eight?’ Of course she dug it. Of course she thought it was groovy. He felt safe. He felt like soft shelter. He felt sexy. He looked sexy in his black leather get up; it practically had her drooling in the same way when she saw him climb off the sofa the other morning, his tie askew, rumpled shirt untucked, hair sticking up. That morning, she waited for an awkward moment to pass between them. She’d waited for him to mention how they’d spent the night together. She’d waited for her face to catch fire, for the flames to burn her ears, when he walked into her apartment that morning, but the flash of heat never came. William walked into her house, joked about her yoga pose, smiled, and her heart did something surprising.
It quivered.
Quivered.
It quivered and … and she had to stop this ridiculousness before it went any further, before she revealed she had developed a nonsensical crush on him in the last two weeks.
‘Yeah, you dug it too. I bet your face is red, isn’t it?’
‘William … maybe we need to talk about this again.’
‘I bet your face is probably a very pretty shade of red or a bright baby pink. I like that. I like when your face goes rosy. It’s pretty cute.’
Her grip slackened, and she lifted herself slightly, putting her head closer to his, trying to get a look at him, but knocking her helmet against his. ‘What are you trying to say?’
‘I’m saying lawyers, such as myself, and magicians know it’s all about misdirection. It takes a certain skill to mislead your audience.’
‘What?’
‘Tell me something Caroline, how fast are we going?’
‘I don’t know, but you’re certainly going in a new direct …’ She huffed. ‘You shit. Oh, you’re good. I never saw sleight of hand performed quite like this before. This is how you defused Yvonne’s anxiety on your first date, when she was freaking out about the violence in Bonnie and Clyde. You steered her attention away from the gore by kissing her.’
‘It worked well on you, didn’t it? I told you were safe with me. We’re doing eighty and you’re totally relaxed.’
Within a few minutes, he slowed and stopped the Fat Boy in the driveway of Quincy’s house. Her arms remained hugged around his middle. He put his hands over the top of hers.
‘Holy crap, I’m underdressed,’ she said, looking at the arched granite front of Quincy’s Romanesque Revival mansion. Holy crap. She knew someone who lived in an actual mansion. ‘I know you said Quincy was wealthy, but you didn’t say he was filthy, stinking, swimming in big bucks wealthy.’
‘Don’t worry. He’s just a normal guy who happens to have an obscenely healthy bank account. Okay, Squirt, you can stay on or hop off while I park.’ He squeezed her hands.
For a moment, she stayed where she was. Finally, she took her arms away and slid off the left side of the Harley, pulling off her helmet, resting it against her hip, fluffing her flattened hair.
William moved the bike back and engaged the kickstand. He climbed off, removing his gloves, and flipped up the tinted visor. He pulled his driving glasses from his nose, removed the helmet, and stuffed the glasses and gloves inside.
It was hard to not watch as William did these simple things. Caroline wanted to get on the bike again so she could snuggle back into him. Instead, she handed him her helmet and watched him strap it next to his on the ape-hanger handlebars. The experience had been exhilarating, but s
he wasn’t exactly sure if that was because she survived the ride, or because she liked hearing she’d been a sock monkey cuddled to his chest.
***
Alex dug out a cigarette from the pack he’d swiped from his mother. He was outside freezing, and Caroline and her fairground attraction boyfriend were inside the Wellington, having breakfast. He flexed his icy fingers a few times, lit the menthol, and inhaled its coolness. He exhaled, his thoughts as hazy as the smoke cloud. The vapor formed a picture only he could see, and he saw himself strangling that white Goliath eating French toast inside, strangling him with his bare hands.
Alex studied his narrow hands. Would they actually fit around that big pale neck? Logistically speaking, before he set to work strangling, he’d have to find some way to knock the man down first.
The lug wrench in the Mustang’s trunk could be useful for that.
One swift wrench blow to the kneecap would take any man down, no matter how large, and once the man toppled, Alex would hit him again and again.
After that, he could use his belt, or the discarded plastic shopping bag that rested like a puffed-up dead jellyfish beside the rear wheel of a battered old Datsun station wagon. He’d pull the bag taut over the broad face and watch if there was any change to that complexion, beyond the bruising. That face would go pink first, then red, and wind up a shade that matched those eyes, and those eyes would bulge, and a tongue would protrude from that pink, pink mouth.
Yet there was one thing he realized he’d missed. If he really wanted to see the color change, he’d have to use a clear plastic bag, the kind from the grocery store for fruit, instead of an opaque shopping bag emblazoned with a red bull’s-eye.
Alex lost himself, grisly pictures of his handiwork in his head until he started laughing, wishing the gruesome images were something he could capture and load on his work computer along with the old photos of Drew and Caroline.
Drew and Caroline. Caroline and Drew. Drew and Caroline.
A blinding flash of that dimpled smile turned into a ceaseless strobe light that flickered the picture of Drew. All Alex saw was Drew.
Drew.
Drew.
A coiling wisp of smoke punctuated the bright staccato photograph in front of his face. Alex began to cough. The combination of oxygen and smoke caught in his chest. Choking, he dropped the cigarette in the gutter and staggered to his Mustang half a block down the street. His stomach bloated with squirming maggots, flittering blowflies, and leaden slugs because he realized he had been deliberating murdering a total stranger.
Stunned, shivering with cold, he sat in his car with the driver’s side door wide open until the sound of car’s horn jolted him. He slammed the door, and started to cry.
Plagued by inability to find resolution, by guilt, by memories of Drew’s life cut short, by unappeasable thoughts of Caroline, he discovered the insufferable person he’d become was even more freakish than the boyfriend who sat across from her in the diner.
***
The In-As-Free slipped across the water below a brilliant azure sky. Quincy apologized for the perfect fall weather that was far from perfect for sailing, ‘I’m afraid we’re not actually going to be getting in any real sailing. There’s not much wind, so we’re only going to bob around for a few hours. We’ll have a nice lunch out on the lake. Murph, did you remember to stick sunscreen on your neck this time?’
‘Aye-aye, Skipper, already taken care of.’ Will popped open the tube of sunblock again and turned to Caroline. He crouched, tipped back the broad-brimmed straw hat on his head, and squeezed a tiny blob of SPF-50 onto his fingertips. ‘You can get sunburn out here too.’ He placed a dot of cream on the bridge of Caroline’s nose, and ran his finger to the tip. She crossed her eyes, gave him a buck-toothed smiled, and the blood rushed to his chest, the warmth proliferated every capillary. He snatched back his breath before it came out in a gasp. ‘You’ve got to make sure your nose is covered. A red, peeling nose is only vital when fishing for sympathy for a head cold.’
‘Last time he came out, Care-o-line, Murph’s neck blistered.’
Will whistled. ‘Oh, boy did it ever.’
‘No, you mean oh gull did it ever,’ Quincy chuckled.
‘You’re not going to start with the crappy sailor jokes already, are you?’ Will blobbed dots of cream across Caroline’s cheek. Her expression went from goofy to puzzled to something he didn’t expect: frightened.
‘Hey, Erika thinks my sailor jokes are funny, don’t you, hotness?’
‘Quinny, I think Will’s busy.’
Will pretended he didn’t hear Erika. He dropped his hands and straightened. Caroline rose, turned to look out over the water, and rubbed in the sunscreen. A moment later, she followed Erika down to the ship’s galley to organize lunch, and Will wondered what the hell just happened.
Caroline glanced back to the narrow staircase that led to the deck above and frowned. In the sailboat’s small kitchen, she sprinkled pine nuts over a spinach salad while Erika cut up a roasted chicken. Although she didn’t begrudge others eating meat, Caroline disliked watching the preparation of animal flesh. ‘Where are you from, Erika?’ she said, not watching the woman crack apart bones.
Erika washed her hands, drying them on the apron she wore. ‘Riga, in Latvia. I came here when I wass twenty-two, and I’m never going to loose my accent.’
‘It reminds me of Ingrid Bergman.’
‘Ingrid Bergman. I like that. Quincy says I sound like the Frida and Agnetha from ABBA. When Will and I first met, he told me I sounded like Eva Gabor. You know, from that old TV show Green Acress?’
‘Will likes TV, doesn’t he?’
‘He likes syou too.’
Frowning again, Caroline twirled the package of pine nuts closed, securing it with a twist tie. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘You don’t want him to like you?’
Caroline pulled the barrette from her hair to re-clip strands that had slipped free. ‘No … yes … I don’t know …’
‘Did your last relationship end so terribly?’
Terribly? Terribly wasn’t a strong enough word. ‘I like Will too,’ Caroline said. ‘Quite a bit, but I have to be fair because my last relationship was something of a nightmare that isn’t exactly finished with me yet. I’m done with it, but it’s not done with me. Who’d want to let that kind of baggage in their life?’
Erika laid a motherly hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t be afraid off him, Caroline. He may look like a big white bear, but Will iss very gentle. Trust me. He’ss a very good dancer, a very good boyfriend, and he would be good for you. You’d be good for him too.’
With a nod, and a half smile, Caroline left the woman in the galley and took the salad on deck. A sudden, sickly-sweet acrid smell clung to the back of her throat. It had the filminess of cream and it added to the thickening sensation that began spreading up her chest when Erika cut up the chicken. She set the salad on a table beneath a blue and white striped awning and coughed to try to clear the thickness. The odor got worse and she moved past the open hatch, stepped around a reading William, and went toward the starboard hull where Quincy stood, smoking a joint.
Well, this was hilariously unexpected. Head shaking, she said, ‘Are you really …’ she looked back to William. ‘Is he really …’
‘Yes, the old hippie.’ William said, without glancing up from his magazine.
‘Want a hit, Care-o-line?’
She waved a hand. ‘No, thank you. The last thing I want is to get tossed in the clink for possession.’
‘You sound like Murphy, the officer of the court, you know if I’m caught with you doing that it could get me disbarred. Man, you two need to live a little. Jeez, it’s just a little dope.’
‘Quinny, put that little dope off yourss sout and come get the champagne, instead off rotting your brain.’ Erika called from below.
After one more draw, Quincy pinched out the joint with his moistened fingers, slipped by with a grin, and made his way to t
he galley.
‘Interesting idiot, isn’t he?’ William had laid aside his motorcycle magazine and come to her side, without making a sound. His hand settled on the back of her neck.
It was an action that had become a familiar, affectionate gesture, but something about the weight of his palm was uneasy. It wasn’t his touch; that was pleasant, wanted even, but hot, clammy perspiration began to form on her skin. William’s hand was bizarrely heavy, weighted with anxiety that belonged to her alone, and Caroline understood this moment with him was shining in a direction lit with change.
She had grown comfortable with how they were, with how easy it always was with him, but she was uncertain about making a modification to the safe haven of friendship. It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was hot. The uncertainty was overheating. She was beginning to burn up in the autumn sun, and nausea was kicking in. Did people get sunstroke in October?
He said, ‘I’m leaving very early tomorrow morning, so we won’t be able to do coffee.’
‘When will you be back from India?’
‘Very early Thursday. Think you’ll miss me?’
Caroline wanted to ignore the flickering ember she’d detected behind his eyes. She didn’t want to pay attention to the suggestion Erika made. She didn’t want to address the flutter in her chest, the weakness in her knees, or the queasiness in her stomach. She didn’t want to find out what kind of dancer William was, or the kind or boyfriend he could be. She didn’t want a paramour who kept ties to an ex-wife.
Everything with William was wonderful, exactly as it was. It was simple, it was normal, and she wanted to hang on to that. It was easy to rationalize away the crush she had on him because she also had a crush on Hugh Jackman when he played Wolverine in the X-Men movies. That was just as idiotic as this, except, in reality, this moment was making her edgy—and queasier instead of pleasantly giddy.
All at once, things became intensely bright. Although they stood under a sailcloth awning, the shade didn’t offer any relief. The clear sky and autumn sun glinting off the slate-blue water hurt her eyes. The polarized sunglasses she wore suddenly weren’t dark enough. Caroline turned her gaze to William’s chest, but the brilliant, robin’s egg blue of his loose-fitting shirt and white satin luster of his hair was as dazzling as the sunlight.
Next To You Page 17
