Heat Wave (20 page)

A good rest
.

Was that what she needed? True, without the girls around, her schedule was freed up a bit, but the Seashell Inn was full this week. She had to bake every morning, help Maria clean, and manage the bookings and billings. Her evenings would be free, though, and summer evenings were long. She wondered whether, as a widow, she should be too sad to enjoy life. If she bought herself a nice new hardback mystery and ordered a pizza and opened a bottle of wine all for herself this evening—would that be wrong?

The phone rang again. Annabel, her voice slow, even weary. “Carley. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Annabel. How are you?” She lay her shopping bag gently over a chair and flopped down on her bed, kicking off her sandals.

“I am
miserable
with this heat. I know Russell and I have been rigidly puritanical about not having air-conditioning on the island. Now I must admit I don’t know why we considered it a point of pride to endure this heat and humidity.”

Carley had cooled off in the air-conditioned SUV, but the heat of the second floor bedroom made her drowsy. Lazily, she consoled Annabel. “It only lasts for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s what we always say, but really, summers seem to be hotter every year. Russell blames it on global warming.”

Carley was pleased to be having a conversation with her mother-in-law on a neutral topic. Helpfully, she suggested, “You could buy air-conditioning.”

“Too expensive and complicated for this old ark. Anyway, we’ve made another plan. We’re going up to Boston for the week, to stay at the Ritz, where the rooms are posh and air-conditioned and we can go to air-conditioned museums and restaurants or just lie and stare at the ceilings and cool off.”

“What a good idea.”

“The only thing I worry about—I don’t want you to feel we’re deserting you, Carley. We just thought, since the girls are with your parents, you won’t need us for a week …”

The strain in Annabel’s voice touched Carley. “Annabel, you’re absolutely right. I just spoke with the girls and my parents. Cisco and Margaret arrived at the airport. Mom and Dad have lots of plans. I feel like I’m on vacation! I won’t have to fix dinner or do laundry for a week.” Except for the guests, she added silently. “Please, go to Boston and enjoy yourselves.”

When Carley clicked off the phone, she sat for a moment in a kind of suspended animation, like someone struck by lightning or caught in amber.

Annabel and Russell were going to Boston. To museums and restaurants. To a posh hotel with air-conditioning. Cisco and Margaret were with people who adored them, they were all laughing, they were having fun.

That night, Carley curled up with a fat new mystery and a deluxe pizza and a box of expensive chocolates. It was pleasant for a while, but not as satisfying as she’d expected. She was bored. She was lonely.

She wanted to wear the halter dress she’d bought at Moon Shell Beach.

She opened the island newspaper and studied it. She picked up the phone.

“Lexi? How would you like to go see
Our Town
tomorrow night, and then stop afterward somewhere for a drink?” Lexi laughed. “I’d love to.”

Next, she phoned Maria, who helped her clean the rooms. “Could you come over tomorrow night and just be around in case any of the guests need something? I’d pay you, of course.”

“I’d love to!” Maria chuckled. “And it will be good for you to get out!”

• • • • •

I
n the off-season, it seemed as if every single person on the island knew Carley, or knew who she was and was capable of reporting her every word and move to the rest of the town. Gossip was one of the few off-season island activities.

But in the three months when the summer people flooded the island, a restful anonymity curtained Carley from the world. The play was held in Bennett Hall on Centre Street, a small auditorium next to the Congregational church. It contained a small stage and only about one hundred twenty-five seats. There were, as she’d expected, acquaintances in the audience who waved at her or kissed the air next to her cheeks and told her how glad they were to see her out, and half of these people would phone Annabel and Russell as soon as possible to inform them that they’d seen Carley at the play, while the other half would privately discuss what Carley was wearing, how suitable it was, how sad or inappropriately happy she looked, and how interesting it was that she was with Lexi Laney, who was wealthy and divorced and involved with Tris and Jewel Chandler.

Most of the people at the theater that night were strangers. Many of them cast admiring eyes over Lexi and Carley in their chic dresses and high heels. The play was a complete success, commanding a standing ovation, and afterward, as they filed out into the hot
summer night, Carley’s body felt different. Smoother. Supple. She was fluid, she was comfortable, she was young.

They strolled beneath the high leafy trees down to the outdoor patio at the Boarding House. They ordered cold Prosecco and sake cockles and spicy shrimp rolls to share and leaned back in their chairs to gaze at the high indigo sky. Lexi talked about her past in a self-deprecating, amusing way, and Carley listened and found herself laughing. She was aware of men admiring them. Mostly, she knew, they were gawking at tall, blond, stunning Lexi, but occasionally she glanced up to see a man’s eyes on her, and she allowed herself a Mona Lisa quirk of her lips.

The waiter appeared at their table with two more glasses of wine on his tray. “Compliments of the gentlemen in the corner.”

Lexi looked across the patio, then laughed. “Thank you,” she told the waiter. To Carley she said, “It’s Tris and Wyatt.”

Carley frowned. “Who?”

“Tris and Wyatt.
My
Tris, remember? I’m practically living with him. I told him we were going out tonight. Wyatt’s one of his buddies. Oh, come on.” Lexi frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be inhibited because Gus’s best friend is here. I mean,
he
’s here, isn’t he? Do you think Wyatt shouldn’t enjoy himself because he lost his best friend?”

Before Carley could answer, the men were at their table. “May we join you?”

“Of course,” Lexi said.

As the men pulled out their chairs, Carley picked up her water glass and chugged it down. She needed a clear head if she was going to be around Wyatt on this soft summer night.

“We went to see
Our Town
,” Lexi told the men.

“I saw it last night,” Wyatt said. “Wasn’t Riley Wynn amazing?”

Carley relaxed, listening to the conversation, loving the way Wyatt knew the actors, the director, the set designer. This was his community, and hers, too. She felt easy, at home. Leaning forward, she joined in the conversation. They talked about everything, how
well the island economy seemed to be doing, and the Red Sox, whom they all loved and followed, and the Swedish writer Stieg Larsson. They ordered more food, tuna tartare and duck spring rolls and a rich appetizer combining sirloin and lobster, and they all shared the food, licking the sauce off their lips and groaning with satisfaction. Carley was careful not to touch her wine. She stuck to water, wanting to stay sober and restrained. Wanting to keep herself from blurting out something she’d regret.

Wanting to stop herself from simply touching Wyatt’s tanned, muscular arm.

They were surprised when the waiter arrived to tell them the restaurant was closing. It was after one in the morning.

“I can’t remember when I’ve been out this late.” Anxiously, Carley grabbed her cell phone from her bag and punched in the guest house number. When Maria answered, she told her she could leave now; Carley was on her way home. Maria assured her the evening had been quiet. She’d see her tomorrow. Clicking off the phone, Carley pushed her chair back from the table. “I’ve got to get back.”

“Hey,” Lexi said. “It’s okay. Your girls are with their grandparents, remember? No one’s going to give you a demerit for signing in late at the dorm.”

“Still.” She gathered up her purse. “I’d better go.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Wyatt said.

Surprised, she glanced at him quickly, then looked down at the table, flustered. “Oh, it’s only a few blocks away.”

“Nevertheless.” Wyatt reached over and took her arm.

Her knees went weak. She wasn’t sure she could stand up.

Lexi leaned over and kissed Carley’s cheek. “Tonight was fun, Carley. Let’s do it again. You and I both work hard in the summer; we need a little entertainment.”

Carley knew the subtext of Lexi’s little speech. She wanted to confess:
This might be more than entertainment for me. This might be more than I can handle
.

She rose on shaking legs. What was wrong with her? The man had only offered to escort her home safely at this late hour.

He was a
friend
.

Tris had his arm around Lexi. “We’re walking this way.”

“We’re this way,” Wyatt said.

“Good night!” Carley called, trying to sound normal.

The streets were quiet. The shops were closed. As they strolled down residential lanes, few houses burned lights in the windows. The town was sleeping. The sidewalks were famous for the uneven brickwork that could make anyone stumble on the brightest day. Wyatt put his arm around Carley in a natural, protective manner, drawing her close to his side.

They turned down a narrow lane darkened by high hedges. The heavy perfume of lilies drifted around them. The heat, which had been tormenting during the day, seemed like a caress against her skin. She was afraid Wyatt could sense how her heart was racing.

Proud that her voice sounded natural, Carley said, “It’s kind of fun, being the only people awake, isn’t it?”

“Very cool,” Wyatt agreed. “It’s like we know secrets.”

“Well,” Carley said, her pulse fluttering, “everyone knows secrets.”

“I know a secret,” Wyatt told her.

“Do you? Tell me.”

“Okay.” Wyatt stopped her next to a privet hedge. A streetlamp a few houses down illuminated his face. “Here it is.”

He leaned toward her, and Carley lifted her head, turning it slightly, thinking he would whisper into her ear, but he gently took her chin in his hand and tilted his face toward hers and brought his mouth down to kiss her on the lips. It was a long, deliberate, searching, sexual kiss.

When finally he drew back, she saw the question on his face.

Her heart was quivering away in her chest like a frightened rabbit, but desire created its own courage and she heard herself murmur, “And here’s my secret.”

She raised her arms, folded them around his neck, went up on tiptoe to press herself against him, and kissed him back.

The hardness of his erection against her gave her an unexpected sense of triumph.

“Let’s go to your house while I can still walk,” Wyatt joked, gently pushing her away from him.

They had only two more blocks. They walked quickly, in silence. Above them, a half moon rode the sky, joining with the stars to sprinkle the earth with silver light and darker shadows. SUVs sat in driveways like giant primeval sleeping monsters. No wind stirred the trees, no dog barked, no bird chirped. Carley felt as if she were on another planet, a fantasy world separate from reality.

They were holding hands. As they came to her house, their pace increased. She fumbled with the keys and then they were inside. Wyatt pushed her against the door and pressed himself against her.

After a long kiss, she tore herself away. “Wyatt—I’m a little nervous.”

To her surprise, he said, “Me, too. We’ll go slow. We’ll stop whenever you want.”

She took his hand and pulled him up the stairs to the second floor, which was off limits to the B&B guests. She led him down the hall past the master bedroom to one of the extra bedrooms, where her parents or Sarah and Sue stayed when they came to visit. She shut and locked the door. She turned to face him and Wyatt came at her, tall, lean, hard, almost desperate, wrapping his arms around her and half walking, half carrying her to the bed. They fell on it, and as she ground her body against his, her lips against his, all nervousness vanished. All restraint was gone. This was primitive, unstoppable, basic. They moved apart only for Wyatt to unzip and lower his jeans, for Carley to raise her dress and remove her panties, and then his naked skin was against hers, she felt the brush and bristle of his hair against her abdomen and thighs, she twisted beneath him, she raised her hips, and with a low moan, he entered her.

“Oh,” she said. Every cell of her body was alive. Anticipation rippled through her like starlight on water, possessing her very depths.

“Don’t move,” he said. He raised himself on his elbows and looked down at her. “I want this to last.”

But she was on fire. She was on the verge of something, she was somewhere she’d never been before in her life.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she told him, and she moved her hips, and he thrust deeper, and a wild sensation shuddered through her, like the sun rising in the morning, expanding its warm light everywhere, illuminating the world.

He put his hand over her mouth to stifle her cries. She licked the palm of his hand, and he groaned deeply and came.

She didn’t want to let him go. He didn’t want to move. For a long time he supported himself on his arms, while their torsos grew moist with sweat, but finally she unclenched her legs from around him and he rolled on his back. As he moved, he kept his hand on her body, not wanting to break the connection.

She rolled on her side and nuzzled against him. She drew her hand over his long abdomen, curled her fingers in his thick brown pubic hair, stroked his thigh.

“You’re created from marble and satin,” she murmured.

“You’re created from honey,” he replied. He rolled onto his side and gazed into her eyes. “Carley, I’ve wanted to do that ever since the first time I saw you.”

She touched his face with her fingertips. “Are we very bad?”

He captured her hand in his and kissed her palm. She shivered.

“Just for this week,” he said slowly, “let’s not think about anyone else. Let’s just be ourselves, together.” When she hesitated, he said, “The answer is no, Carley, I don’t think we’re being bad. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. But this week has fallen out of the sky like some kind of miracle, and I don’t want to lose a minute of it.”