Chapter
15
I was on my feet in a second and at the door in two. Throwing my arms around him, I held on for several more, before easing back. His jaw wore only a five o’clock shadow this time, but his work slacks were wrinkled from the drive, his sleeves haphazardly rolled. Despite its perfect styling, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were tired. I searched for pleasure in them, but couldn’t see past the fatigue. He did have his arms around my waist. That was a good sign. But they were heavy and, once there, didn’t move.
“Hey,” I whispered. “How’d you know we were here?”
“Who’s we?” he whispered back.
I might have called them book friends and left it at that, but something inside me wanted him to see—actually, wanted them to see. Later I would realize that the publicity of his being here was good. Now, though, all I could think was that, even tired, he looked gorgeous, and he was mine.
Taking his hand, I led him to the others. “Hey, guys, this is my husband. James, meet Monica, Shelly, Jill, Angela, and Jane—and Vickie, the Book V, who owns the store.”
He smiled politely at each, but quickly murmured to me, “I’m half asleep. Got a bed?”
I’m sure I left a grin or two behind, but my eyes stayed on James. Raising my free hand in a backward wave, I led him back to the door. The night was warm under a blanket of clouds, but I wasn’t interested in stars or the moon. I was worried; James really did look beat. I was delighted; he had driven all this way again. I was curious.
“Did Vicki send you over?” I asked, and slipped an arm through his to keep him close as I steered him toward the inn.
“Yeah.” His hand found mine, fingers lacing, locking. I wanted to think he needed the closeness as much as I did. But his fingers were tense, reminding me of my own body when I had first left New York.
“You drove straight from work?”
“Left at four,” he said in a voice that was lower than ever, as if it, too, was bone-weary. “Dumb move, rush—rush hour and all.”
“Has work been rough?”
“You could say.”
I didn’t ask more. Wouldn’t ask more. Work was the enemy here, or one of them.
And another? At the sound of a low vibration, James dug in his pocket and pulled out a phone. His step didn’t falter as he studied the screen, typed something with his thumb, repocketed the phone.
“Is that a new one?” I asked.
“The firm got a deal. It’s the latest.”
The latest. That was swell. I didn’t say it, because I knew my sarcasm would come through, and I didn’t want his visit to start with that. Besides, he looked too tired for words.
We walked the last little way in silence. When I guided him up the driveway, he said, “Back door?”
“Actually, a separate one,” I replied, going past the inn to the gardener’s shed. I felt him balk when I reached for the knob.
He scratched the back of his head in a familiar, open-palm, vaguely facetious gesture, and said in a voice that was deep enough, raspy enough to be sexy as hell, “Uh, babe, I think I need a bed this time.”
I let him precede me. The place was small enough—okay, tiny enough—for him to take it in at a glance, but the bed was a voluminous queen, and though it took most of the space, Vicki had managed to squeeze in a wardrobe and bench. The bathroom, which had been added at the time of the conversion, was spacious and posh enough to make up for what the bedroom lacked.
Shutting out the world, I leaned against the door and waited for James to take me in his arms. Glimpses of Friday night rippled from mind to body. Watching him, all long legs, broad back, and ruffled hair, I was ready.
He had his shirt off in no time, then dropped onto the bench and removed his belt, shoes, and socks. He paused with his pants only to dig out the phone, which must have hummed against his thigh, because he held it, read the screen, and typed in a response. It remained in his right hand while his left drew back the covers. He put the phone on the tiny lamp table on his way down, made a sound that might have been relief, and was quickly asleep.
No. Apparently we weren’t only about sex.
But I knew what he felt. I had been where he was, so tired that I couldn’t talk. I sat on the bed for a while, thinking that a second trip here had to mean something. And that sound he had made right before falling asleep? Relief to be with me? Relief to be prone? Relief to be lying on clean, fresh sheets?
Or was it the woods that had lulled him to sleep? He had to have smelled pine and earth; they permeated the room. Then again, it had taken me a while to be able to smell again. My first night here, I was on overload to the point of numbness.
Recalling how Vicki had pampered me, I slipped back to the main house while James slept, and raided the fridge. I returned with cold drinks and a sandwich, and had barely—ever so stealthily—opened the door when I saw James sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Where’d you go?” he asked, sounding hoarse and unnerved.
He barely moved. “Tell me that guy was in the kitchen.”
Having been consumed by this guy for the last little while, I was slow to follow. “Jude? Why are you thinking about Jude?”
“Was he?”
“No.” I was guarded. “How do you know he’s in town?”
“Didn’t know. Guessed. Don’t care. Com’ere.”
Setting the food on the bench, I approached the bed, kicking off my sneakers and, as he watched, the rest of my clothes. He was reaching for me before the last were barely gone, pulling me under him and kissing me hard.
What happened then was even wilder than it had been in the woods, and not just on his part. Filled with his scent and the familiar texture of his body, I couldn’t get enough. I took and demanded more. I figured that simply for not calling me back, he owed me this.
He was gasping loudly when it was done. Tucking me under his arm, he held me close. “What was that?”
It was a minute before I could speak. Finally, with my cheek to his shoulder, I managed a weak “Fresh air. Absence. Heightened senses.”
“You missed me?” he asked with an audible smile.
“I did.”
He released a lengthening breath. “So. Tell me about him.”
I snuggled closer. “Not now.”
“I need to know. How long’s he been back?”
I might have gone off on a Jude doesn’t matter tangent. Except that Jude did matter to James, and he would jump to the wrong conclusion if I didn’t explain.
“A week,” I said.
His body didn’t change—didn’t tense up or pull back—didn’t even freeze, just stayed eerily still. “That’s coincidental.”
“Yes. When I left, I had no plans to come here.”
“Did you know he’d be here?”
I came up over him then, wanting his eyes to see mine. “The truth, James? He wrote saying he’d be back at the end of the month. I thought I could get here and be gone before he arrived. He didn’t know I was coming. He just showed up earlier.”
“And you didn’t leave once you saw him here?”
“Why would I? I told you. I didn’t come for him.”
“Right. The old college roommate. The sister.” He looked skeptical.
“It was more than that,” I said, because the James with me now was … with me. He was listening and thinking. “That summer was different. I was out of college and into law school. I wasn’t worried about my résumé. I was free here. There were no limits, no expectations. I did what I wanted when I wanted, and my parents let me, because I was with Vicki. I had no responsibility. No cares. No demands. That was what I came back for. To breathe.”
He considered, and said a tentative “Okay. And the dreams weren’t of Jude?”
“What I remember of them was the coyote. Did I actually say Jude’s name?”
“No,” he admitted. “Your mom mentioned him. After that, I kept hearing his name. Imagining it.”
I touched his face. “You do not need to worry. Trust me. Please?”
Raising a hand to the back of my head, he brought my face close, but the kiss was tender, gentle as the breath that followed. “It was never like this before.”
“It was,” I mused, laying my head on his chest. His heartbeat was steady, steady. “At the start.”
He was silent for a minute, then wry. “Go on. I’m not sure I’ll like it, but you have a theory.”
“I was stunted in the city. Here I’m alive.”
He was quiet again before murmuring, “Nope, not what I want to hear.” Without looking, he stretched out an arm. When he brought it back up, his hand held the phone. After reading the screen, he pressed several buttons. I wanted to think he was turning it off, but the screen remained lit. He dropped it on the bed by his hip.
“I can’t leave New York, Em. It’s everything I’ve always wanted.”
“Everything how?”
“The practice. The money.”
“I don’t care about money. Money doesn’t matter.”
“It does if we want to live in New York.”
“Were we enjoying the money? Were we doing things with it that mattered? No. We didn’t have time. You’re a runner, but you haven’t run in months, and okay, let’s talk about your practice. Are you really, honestly, handling the kinds of cases you dreamed of? Because I’m not.” I came up on an elbow, again needing to look him in the eye. “Yes, I know, we have jobs and other lawyers don’t—and yes, I know that we have a mortgage and loans, and need the money—and yes, we’re paying our dues. But look at Walter. He’s an equity partner. Total job security there, no loans and a huge monthly draw, but he’s leading the same crazy lifestyle we are.”
James made a dismissive sound. “That’s Walter.”
“It’s every high-level lawyer I know,” I insisted, to which he pulled me over so that I lay on him, and cupped my face in his hands. His eyes went from my eyes to my lips. When he kissed me this time, his mouth was eloquent.
I knew when I was being silenced. But he was also making me feel loved, and I was so hungry for that—gratified, reassured, light-headed—that I didn’t protest. By the time we had made love again, I was back to thinking about whether sex was the one thing we could agree on. By then he was snoring softly.
I slept, too, though nowhere near as soundly as he did. The slightest movement he made had me awake, fearful that he was slinking out again in the dark when we still had to talk.
In the end, though, the only talking done in the dark that night was in the woods. The gardener’s shed was front row center in this particular concert hall, and my coyotes the marquee event. I heard barks and yips backing up a duet of howls. During one particular stretch, I opened the window, half hoping that the sounds would wake James, but they didn’t.
What woke me was his swearing as he fished through the bed-sheets to locate the ring. I looked over my shoulder and watched him answer.
“Good morning.” Sounding groggy, he squinted at his watch and swore again, this time under his breath. “Nine. I see it, Mark. I’m sorry. I must have slept through the alarm,” he lied, and, bowing his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. At eight. How did it go?” As he listened, he rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Okay. I can do that, but not today. I can’t hold my—my head up. Yeah, must be. A lot of that going around.” He was quiet. “No. Nothing’s going on. No, Emily’s great. Yeah. I understand. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
When he ended the call and sank back on the bed, I turned over to face him. He stared at the rafters for a minute, before turning his head on the pillow. His blue eyes were tired. “I missed an eight o’clock meeting.”
I refused to say I was sorry. “Were you planning on being there?”
“I was going to conference in.” He dropped an arm over his eyes. “It’s been a lousy week that way, thank you, Emily. I can’t sleep. The condo’s a sty. When I’m at work, I’m only—only half there.” He exhaled. “Mark’s an intuitive guy. He knows something’s up. I’d tell him—tell him what it is, if I knew.” Without moving his arm, he said, “They caught a coyote in Central Park last week.”
I gasped. “They didn’t kill it, did they?”
“No. Tranquilized it and relocated it. Who knows, maybe to somewhere near here. They figured it got lost and wandered into the city and didn’t know how to get out.”
Drawing on what Jude had taught me, I picked up the story. “So they dropped it off in a wooded place where it could get the food it needed to survive, only it couldn’t stay there. Coyotes are territorial, and this territory was full. So it moved on until it found space.” Amazing, the analogy. “I’ve seen my coyote here, James—I mean literally, I’ve seen her. She lets me watch her pups play.”
He got the message. Letting his arm fall away, he looked at me. “I can’t do small town, Emily. I came from one. I can’t go back.”
“I’m not asking you to. I don’t want to live here.”
“But something pulled you back.”
I tried to explain. “Think refuge, small ‘r.’ That’s what Bell Valley means to me. I was escaping that summer, too. LSATs, interviews, papers, exams—it had all just bunched together. When I first got here, I slept for three days straight.”
“Then or now?” he asked tiredly.
“Both. Well, not actually three days, but you know what I mean.”
“I sure do. There’s nothing else to do in places like this.”
“But there is,” I argued softly, more patient with James than with my dad on this score. “There are books and bikes and paths in the woods. There’s a farmers’ market every Saturday in July and August. And, yes, there’s the Refuge, which always needs help. And friends. I had good friends here.”
“And Jude.”
I let out a breath. “And Jude. He was my first serious guy. Like everything else that summer, he was different. Ask him about his career path, and he’d laugh in your face. Everything about him was irreverent. That fascinated me. I’ve never been irreverent in my life.”
“Until now,” James said, eyes sad, voice fading. “I just don’t know what to do with this, Em. And I’m so—so friggin’ tired.”
I leaned over and kissed him lightly, then watched him sleep until my stomach rumbled. Aching for coffee, I got dressed and slipped out. The kitchen was crowded. Vicki and Charlotte were doing stickers at the table, Rob stood on a ladder fiddling with a strip of molding, Lee was at the stove.
All eyes turned my way, curious and expectant, but much as there was solace in knowing they cared, I didn’t want to talk.
“He looked exhausted,” Vicki said when I touched her shoulder in passing.
“He’s burning the candle at both ends,” I agreed, and went on into the dining room. Taking a tray from the stack designed for those sleeping in, I loaded it with coffee, juice, hard-boiled eggs, fruit, cherry-chocolate muffins, sticky buns, and maple oat scones.
“Woo-hoo,” Rob teased as I passed back through the kitchen, “breakfast in bed?”
“When he wakes up,” I sang, and slipped outside.
He woke up at noon and ate everything that I hadn’t eaten myself, even drank cold coffee—all without leaving the bed. The Red Fox wasn’t the White Elephant, where we had stayed while honeymooning in Nantucket, but breakfast in bed was breakfast in bed.
“She made all this,” he surmised.
I nodded.
He slid down and stretched out. “She’s good. She could make a bundle if she had her own place.”
“That was her dream. She was going to do it with her husband.”
He folded his hands on his belly, but they were tight. “So were we. And now here you are with Jude.”
“James,” I protested, but gently. “I chose you. And y’know what, you show up here looking half dead, and I still choose you. I have not once regretted marrying you.”
“You walked out on me.”
“On our life. I can’t take the time clock, the traffic, the shallowness, the noise. I love you, but I never see you. I’m not rejecting law, just the way I practice it. I’m not rejecting you, just the way our lives force us to be.”
Sliding down beside him, I pressed my face to his shoulder. He drew me closer. Reassured by the gesture, I waited for him to respond, but his breathing leveled.
“Must be a sedative in the air,” he murmured, and fell back to sleep.
I didn’t sleep, simply closed my eyes. I didn’t have to see to appreciate the warmth of his skin and the texture of his body, but what I felt just then was less arousal than a pleasant familiarity. It was gratitude that he had come and cared enough to listen, and even respect, yes, respect a work ethic that made him feel guilty for missing a meeting. It was also hope. He had missed that meeting, and he hadn’t balked at telling Mark that he wouldn’t be working today.
Bottom line? If James made me choose between returning to New York and divorce, I’d return to New York. What we had was too good to give up.
That said, I didn’t like the choice. There had to be a better one.
I was no closer to finding it when James woke again. It was nearly two. While he showered, I sat on the bench under the window, dreading the moment when he would climb in his rental car and head south. I was thinking that he hadn’t fawned over the BMW, and that that was a good sign, when another sign came.
He wore a clean pair of jeans low on his hips and was bare-chested and barefooted, scrubbing his hair with a towel when he said, “I might as well meet your friend Lee while I’m here. I want to hear the facts myself before I call Sean.”
The facts didn’t change. Lee told him the story much as she had told me. Naturally reticent, she didn’t ramble on, but responded to one question at a time, in the order he asked. And he was wonderful with her, patient and focused, as I’d known he would be. Interacting with people, be it clients, witnesses, or juries, was his strength. Even the depth of his voice lent something genuine to the meeting. Watching, listening, I was more convinced than ever that his current work—our work—was wrong.
At one point, when she was tense talking of her record, he relaxed her by saying, “You didn’t learn to cook in prison. Those scones were amazing. Most are like lead, but not yours. What makes them so light?”
“Buttermilk,” she said shyly. “I tinker. It’s about getting the proportions right.”
“Well, Sean loves to eat, so bring muffins and he’ll be your slave forever. He’s a good guy. One of his high school pals spent a year behind bars on a negligent homicide conviction, so he gets the personal side of that. He does the trial work for a firm that handles major estates, and he’s already checked, there’s no conflict of interest.” He slid me a glance before telling Lee in an even gentler voice, “He’ll need a retainer. It’s the policy of the firm. Is there someone who can pay?”
“I can,” Amelia said from the door. I didn’t know how long she had been there, but assumed that if she was willing to take my husband’s recommendation, it had been a while. She would have seen his professionalism and sensed his skill.
James stood. After introducing himself, he said, “His name is Sean Alexander, and he’s with Henkel and Ames. Do you know the firm?”
“No,” Amelia said baldly.
“It’s a small, all-purpose firm with extensive resources and an impressive client list. You can check it out online.”
“We’ll do that,” she said in a tone that said she wasn’t about to take his word, which annoyed the hell out of me. Of course she would check it out; a shrewd businessman wouldn’t do any different, but she didn’t have to be abrasive about it.
James, bless him, remained unfazed. Mindful of who would be paying the bill, he didn’t quite turn his back on Amelia. But he was focused on Lee again, now with his phone out, accessing his contacts. He jotted down Sean’s number, then his own, and as he passed Lee the paper, ran through some of the things she should discuss with Sean. “He’s expecting your call,” he finally said. “If there’s a problem, let me know.”
“Tinkering,” I said a short time later, when we reached his car. “That’s it, y’know.” When he looked lost, I said, “Lee’s scones. She tinkers with the recipe until she gets the proportions right. That’s what I want to do, James. It’s not about dumping my life but adjusting the ingredients. And you’re right,” I said, seeing it clearly then but, more importantly, feeling confident enough about James to confess it. “Jude mattered to me once. Everything I’ve been since I left here is what he was not. He was an extreme. But so are we. I want something in the middle.”
Opening the door, James tossed his duffel in the passenger’s seat. Then, bracing his hands on the door frame, he hung his head.
“You liked Lee,” I argued. “I know you did. I saw something different back there in the kitchen. A calmness. A brief, deep satisfaction.”
“What you saw”—he angled his head to meet my gaze—“was me not repeating myself, because I’ve had enough sleep for a change.”
“Maybe, but not all.”
“She’s had a raw deal,” he rasped. “I’d have to be a piece of ice not to react to that.”
“A brief, deep satisfaction,” I repeated. “Funny how helping people brings that out in you. Do you get the same feeling at work?”
With a concessionary sigh, he straightened. “Come back, and we’ll find middle ground.”
I hugged myself. “If I go back, I’ll be swallowed up again. I shake just thinking about it.”
“Well, I can’t leave,” he insisted. “I could change my job—maybe—and we could sell the condo and buy something small in Brooklyn with a yard for the kids—but there aren’t any kids yet—have you thought about that?”
I felt a sharp little pang. “I’ve been escaping that, too.”
“What we were doing wasn’t working.”
“I know.” The next step involved medication whose possible side effects included headaches, nausea, cramps, even hot flashes, according to the websites I’d seen—and yes, I know, those are only possible side effects. Most women have no side effects at all. But how not to worry once you’ve read all that?
Getting pregnant was supposed to have been easy. It was what a woman’s body was made for. I had always dreamed of this.
Physically, though, I was now here and James there. “Things happen for a reason,” I thought, not realizing that I’d said it aloud until he shot back a response.
“What’s the reason here? We’re not supposed to be parents? We work too hard? We don’t have time for kids? That’s a crock of bull, and you know it, Emily.”
The force of his response was actually reassuring. He wanted kids as much as I did. But how to make it happen? I hugged myself tighter.
He stared at me, stared at the woods, stared at the car that wasn’t his. Then, with a grunt, he dug out his phone and his keys. “I gotta go. I’ll work while I drive.” He was halfway into the car when he climbed out again. His eyes were level. “I’ve come here twice. I’ve offered to start looking for a different job. It’s your turn now. What are you willing to give?”
I didn’t know. Idealism, friends, husband, law, time, taste, fun—I felt as though I had already given it all up back there. What of that life to keep? What to ditch? If life was about getting the recipe right, I had to figure out the ingredients before I could tinker with proportions. The problem, of course, was that I couldn’t do a test batch in the kitchen one afternoon.
“Think about it, Emily.” When he entered the car this time, it was for real. A minute later, the car was skirting the green. I watched until it turned a corner and was out of sight.
That was when Amelia approached.