Next To You

by Sandra Antonelli

  She watched his big hands flow down her stomach until the tips of his fingers ran underneath the top edge of her pink bikinis. With an uneven breath she reached back with both hands to press him closer.

  Fully dressed, Will sank with her to the green Persian rug beneath their feet, kissing her and touching her with nimble, gentle hands. With a caress, he began to lower the fabric of her panties, reveling in the sound of her breathing, knowing this time he wasn’t misreading a single cue because she burrowed her fingers into his him … and hummed.

  ‘You’re an unusual man, William.’ She clutched at him. One hand tickled over her ribs, her hips, the other slid down into hair that hadn’t been manicured to a strip or waxed off. He dipped between her thighs with a feathery touch and she jerked against him. ‘Oh, I like that.’

  ‘Good.’ Will liked it too. He was confident James Bond, caressing a nearly naked woman on a Persian rug on the floor of his office, instead of the dependable ex-husband his ex-wife relied on for a predictable tumble. His fingers skated into wet heat, stroking, playing. Her breath came fast and sharp. His did too. ‘I may look a little unusual, but I’m nothing special and I lied. My motives aren’t exactly selfless.’

  ‘They don’t have to be. You don’t have to be Kev …’ Caroline began and then all she managed was a funny, high-pitched sound. Will watched her body flush as pink as her undergarments. ‘I like that too.’

  She pulsed beneath his wet fingers, the quiver pushing into the pads of his fingers. ‘I’m so glad,’ he said.

  ‘Then do it again.’ Caroline twisted and kissed him hard. Her hands trailed down the front of his shirt following the silkiness of his now-crooked tie down to his taut stomach, over his belt to the top of his trousers, and lower still. He was hard, so hard. ‘Tell me what you like. Tell me where you want my hands.’

  She cupped him through his trousers and Will hummed. ‘Right about there is pretty good.’

  ‘Tell me what you want me to do.’

  His fingers stopped exploring, the tip of his tongue halted tracing the outline of her lips, and her last statement exploded. The words reverberated, penetrated his desire, and his reply hadn’t a single sexual connotation because William Murphy spat out what he’d been holding in for so long, ‘Why, Caroline? I want you to tell me why you’re with a man like that. Why do you even try to put it back together? Why do you want to be with a man who refuses to touch you except to push you around?’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’ Caroline pulled her hands away.

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Alex?’ They were supposed to discussing the possibilities of she could do to him, and doing this to him was not what Caroline had in mind. She didn’t want to talk about Alex. She didn’t want to dredge up that cold ugliness when everything felt on its way to summer in the middle of a beginning winter.

  William’s hands were still on her. Caroline pushed them away. She sat up and looked around for her dress. ‘Why do you want to talk about Alex?’

  ‘Because,’ he said softly, ‘I was there and I know. Maybe not in exactly the same way, but it’s hard, it’s hard to let go. I’m a fine example of holding on to something for years, still sleeping with my ex-wife, but I’m not anymore. You tell yourself it’s over and say he’s not your husband, but you keep a wedding photo in your living room and bedroom. You have to put those things away. You have to let it go. I’m sorry. My saying this is inappropriate, but those years you spent together aren’t enough of a reason to stay. I know it’s not my place, but I’ve heard the way he speaks to you. I’ve seen the results of him abusing you. Whether you believe it or not, it is abuse, and you make excuses for him. He stalked you, Caroline, and as wrong as it was I tried to curtail that. Obviously you care about him. Maybe you still love him and brush it aside, saying he’s just angry and you deserve it, but that kind of behavior is aberrant and not what you do to someone you’re supposed to love. Yes, I was wrong to interfere in private business between a husband and wife, but trust me, you are on the right track, you shouldn’t be with him and I’m not just saying that because—’ Will shut up because Caroline stared at him, aghast.

  Her lips began moving together, soundlessly at first, trying to form words, ‘Y-you think … you think … Oh, those domestic violence pamphlets in my mailbox … you put them … you think that’s what this is? You think he’s been beating me, abusing me, torturing me psychologically? Oh, my God, William.’ Swallowing, Caroline began to shake her head. ‘I know your eyesight isn’t that great with some fine details, but you should have had more than one look at the wedding picture on my nightstand. That’s not Alex in the photo.’

  ‘If it’s not Alex then who is it?’

  ‘His older brother.’ Caroline got to her feet, the brown dress in her hand. She straightened her bra, pulled her thigh-high stockings smooth, and adjusted her undies to a more comfortable position. ‘Same hair color, same eyes and nose, different chin and mouth. Alex’s beard made it hard to see that.’

  ‘You married Alex’s brother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  All at once pieces dropped into place. Will felt like an ass. He rose, unbuttoning his collar, loosening his tie. ‘You had an affair with him. Your child died, you left your husband, and had an affair with Alex.’ Verbalizing that last thought made him feel like an utter louse. ‘I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. I see enough. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, you don’t see anything.’

  ‘True. I’m confused, so help me understand this. What is it you’re saying? Your uncle told me, I know you left your husband, so where is he? Are you divorced? Separated? Is he gay?’

  Caroline stepped into her dress, slid her arms through the sleeves and dropped her gaze to the floor. ‘My husband is dead, William.’

  ‘What? I’ve had this wrong all this time. I misunderstood everything your uncle told me about you. You left your husband and had an affair with Alex.’

  With a nod, she swallowed slowly, licked her lips, saying nothing.

  And Will had sudden sickening thoughts about postpartum depression, postpartum psychosis—and mothers who killed their … ‘Drew … your baby … what happened to your boy, how did your chi—’

  ‘William, stop!’ Caroline rubbed a hand across her forehead. ‘Drew was my husband and I did leave him, briefly. My son was born four months premature. He lived for eighteen minutes. We never even named him. Drew died after the baby, and I had an affair with the brother-in-law who was once my best friend.’

  Will shook his head and muttered. ‘I feel like I know you, but I don’t really know a thing about you. What am I trying to do here?’

  ‘You’re being very straightforward about wanting to get me in bed, and telling me how you feel. That’s all right because I’d like to get in your bed,’ Caroline said, very softly, very sadly. ‘It’s not your fault. There are some things never ever offered up for discussion because you knew I left my husband. You said my uncle told you stories about me, and my family. You seemed to know so much about me. Did you know I was in a psychiatric hospital before I told you?’

  ‘I knew that you’d been ill and in a hospital,’ Will said. ‘Reg said you were ill, but ill is such a unspecific thing.’

  She laughed, breathy burst of air. ‘I figured he gave you even more sordid details of my life since we met, but I guess he’s a hell of lot less of a gossipy old man than I realized if he kept some things private.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  Caroline’s sigh of resignation came out shuddering. ‘I get it now. I can see how you put things together. I can see how I put things together too. You make such a big deal about being older than me, but you weren’t talking about the difference in their age, were you? You meant Spencer Tracy never divorced his wife, and still had his time with Katherine Hepburn. Because you thought I was married to Alex you were suggesting you and I could do that same thing, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you been concerned all
this time? Did you think I was afraid I’d be committing adultery with you? I mean, as far as you knew, I’d done it once before, but maybe I didn’t want to do it again. Is that the reason you thought I hesitated?’

  Will nodded. ‘I wanted to make myself clear. I wanted you to know I was willing to try any way you wanted. I’ve been under this delusion you were married, scuffling with some underlying desire to patch things up and go back to your husband. In my mind I couldn’t see any other reason for why you would want Alex around. Why would you have him in your home if you weren’t considering reconciling? Either way, whatever it was, I had to wait until you let me know you were ready. It didn’t matter what I wanted. I had to wait for you let me know who you wanted, and it seemed reason enough for me not to have sex with you on top of this desk, even though it’s all I’ve been thinking about.’

  ‘You don’t think what we were doing was sex?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay President Clinton, using your hands to diddle me on the floor of your office wasn’t sex.’

  Will removed his jacket and threw it into a leather chair near his desk. ‘Oh, Caroline. Caroline, I’m sorry. Truly, I am sorry you lost your baby. I’m sorry your husband died, but I have to admit I’m relieved to know there isn’t a man in your life. I fact, I’m really very pleased to know Alex wasn’t ever your husband.’

  ‘You’re startlingly honest and decent, William.’ Caroline laughed, and then her eyes burned, tears welled up, but she didn’t screw up her face and bawl. Tears didn’t trickle down as she waited for him to pass judgment.

  His verdict was no verdict at all. ‘Hey. Don’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t cry because you think I have these principles and gentlemanly good manners. In the elevator on the way up here, married or not, I really had every intention of nailing you once I got you into the office. Why else do you think Quincy reminded me to lock the door?’

  ‘That’s not what it is. You have no idea. You just don’t know. No one told you the why behind everything. That’s why you never looked at me funny and why you were friendly from the day I met you why you never judged me. Because you really don’t know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  Caroline wanted to be as honest as he was. He had trusted her, opened his door to friendship, and now he wanted more. She had to be honest because she wanted more too. Her tears vanished, and she sat on the edge of the leather wing back chair where he’d tossed his jacket. She gripped the edge of the armrest hard, tendons stood out on the back of her hand. She looked at him flatly, ‘I said it was complicated, but you deserve to know.’

  ‘Are you in love with your brother-in-law?’ He crossed the floor to her chair.

  ‘I was in a psychiatric facility.’

  ‘Yes. Your child and husband died. That was traumatic. I find that understandable.’ His gentle hand settled on the back of her neck.

  ‘Everybody died, William. My parents died. They went first, instantly, then my baby, because I was too old. My “advanced maternal age” complicated things for him. But Drew.’ She laughed. ‘Apparently I tried to kill myself because Drew took so long to die. He took such a long time to die, but it was easy to do. It was very easy, William.’

  ‘What was easy, Caroline?’

  ‘Killing my husband.’

  Her eyes were little bits of streaked, grayish-green marble, and their hardness shocked Will. Involuntarily, he backed away, and plopped heavily on the corner of the desk, the tip of a pewter letter opener jabbing into his right buttocks. ‘Okay,’ was all he could think to say as he removed the blade and held it against his thigh.

  ‘Jesus,’ she breathed, shaking her head. She stood, zipped up her dress and put on her coat. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone. I have to get back to work anyway. I’ll leave the tuxedos. You’ll make either of them look very elegant so I’ll leave it up to you to decide which one feels more comfortable. I’m sorry, William. I really am.’

  He watched her unlock the door and leave the office. She glanced back to where he still sat, immobile on the desk, letter opener in his hand.

  Caroline closed the door. Something inside had begun to chip away, like when her father used lapidary tools on stones. She had been carving and polishing bits of William into a multifaceted stone, and she had liked that, she’d liked seeing him take shape in her life. Bypassing the elevator, she took the stairs down from his office knowing, because she’d frightened him with her honesty, she’d spilled all the precious little gems of him into the gutter.

  Chapter 15

  By the time he shifted his stunned frame from the desk, Caroline would have had enough time to ride the elevator downstairs, walk around the corner, travel the two blocks the store, and take the escalator back to Personal Shopping.

  Uncertain of what he was going to say, or do, Will grabbed the garment bag, stuffed the tuxedos back inside, and folded the thing over his arm. Several minutes later, he was on level two of Webb & Fairchild, striding through Menswear toward Personal Shopping.

  Stuart, the sales associate from Designer Menswear, sat at the desk there instead of Caroline. ‘Good afternoon Mr. Murphy,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Stuart, is Caroline here or is she downstairs?’

  ‘I’m afraid Mrs. Jones is unwell and has gone home. I hope she’s not coming down with the flu I had. I’ll be happy to assist you with those if you like.’

  ‘I’m sorry, assist me with what, Stuart?’

  ‘Those tuxedos, sir.’ Stuart’s neat mustache twitched.

  Will was stymied for a moment. He’d forgotten the garment bag draped over his left arm. ‘Yes. Thank you,’ he said and handed the bag to Stuart.

  ‘Was there a problem with any of them?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. I didn’t try them on.’

  With a concerned frown, Stuart leaned in close. ‘There wasn’t a problem with Mrs. Jones, was there, sir?’

  ‘No. No.’ Will didn’t exactly know if it was a problem hearing the woman he’d touched so intimately say she’d murdered her husband.

  It had to be another misunderstanding. He must have missed something or made some wrong assumptions. Assumptions. So cautious, so assured that he never made assumptions of others the way others often made assumptions of him, and he’d made assumptions. The lawyer part of him automatically analyzed the ramifications of romancing a murderer, and how it could affect his membership to the bar, while the emotional, connected human part of him remained totally bewildered. He’d made assumptions based on what he saw.

  The memory of an afternoon on the street in front of this very department store, when a mother-in-law had clutched at his arm, burst into his mind in the manner of gaudy stage production, something nightmarishly Moulin Rouge. Her silvery streaked red hair flew about as the woman followed them, shouting at Caroline.

  Will had shrugged it off, believing the mother-in-law had been wild because her precious son had been dumped by his wife, but he saw Bethany now, her tobacco-yellowed teeth exaggerated. She chomped on an equally oversized cigarette, grabbed his sleeve, dropped black cigarette ash the size of a Swedish meatball on the dark gray fabric, and yapped like a vicious Yorkshire terrier, Does he know what you did, Caroline?

  Gasping, he finally understood why that woman had been so doggedly relentless.

  Then he became conscious of something far more breathtaking. Reflexively, he reached out to Stuart’s shoulder, and he leaned slightly forward to swallow. He was short of breath. His chest hurt. His head hurt too.

  ‘Sir?’

  Head pounding, Will swallowed again and blinked hard. Had he forgotten to wear his tinted glasses, because things seemed more glaring than they usually did under the department store lights? No, his glasses were on there his nose, the brightness just a part of his utter astonishment. He tried to catch his breath and realized he was breathing just fine.

  ‘Mr. Murphy? Mr. Murphy … Will, are you all right?’

  Managing a short nod, he took his hand away, turned and began
to make his way out of the store.

  This wasn’t a simple, romantic infatuation laced with lust. William Murphy, the man whose life had been uncomplicated and comfortable, was in love with his husband-murdering next-door neighbor.

  ***

  Will stood in the threshold of Quincy’s wood-paneled home study. He leaned against the doorframe, forehead in his hand.

  Quincy peered around the edge of the newspaper he was reading. ‘Was it that bad?’ Did you find out she used to be a he or something? Or was it that good? Or are you here for some advice on how to conduct an affair with a married lady? I have to admit that’s one experience I’ve never had.’

  Will didn’t say anything.

  ‘That last crack wasn’t that offensive, was it?’ He lowered the paper and folded it.

  Will just stood there.

  ‘Murph, have you got a headache?’

  With a swallow, Will ran his hand down his face, over his mouth. ‘Caroline murdered her husband.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Caroline murdered her husband.’

  Quincy’s mouth popped and closed with the snap of his jaw. ‘Holy shit, that’s what I thought you said.’

  ‘Have you got any whiskey?’

  ‘Whiskey. Yeah. Sit down I’ll get you one. I’ll get me one.’ Quincy left his newspaper and crossed the room to the liquor cabinet. He poured double shots of Jack Daniels into two Waterford crystal tumblers. ‘Where is she now?’ he asked, handing a glass to Murphy, who was now slumped in a burgundy chesterfield armchair.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Were you there? Were you a witness?’

  ‘No. No. She just told me.’

  ‘Oh, my God. Is this something … have you called the police?’

  ‘Quincy?’ Will’s head felt overstuffed. For years he’d been advising his friend, counseling, taking care of business and personal details, but there didn’t seem to be room left in his skull to process this startling information, or the stunning awareness of his feelings. Bewildered, he looked at Quincy, unaccustomed to being so suddenly unprepared. ‘I don’t know what to do.’