The Good Enough Husband (7 page)

“Michael, I’ve told you time and again over the last few weeks that I feel like I’m losing my artistic spirit.” It was about the baby, but it was about these other things too.

“But you didn’t give up art or photography, Hannah. I was looking at your website, and you’re brilliant. You’re doing so well in such a short time because your unique stamp is all over every house you sell. You do a beautiful job staging the homes, and making them really inviting. Your listings always look better than the other brokers around here.”

“A wide angle lens and ample light is not art, Michael.”

This was the problem with Michael. He actually thought decorating and taking pictures of other people’s homes would fill her artist’s soul. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her. He didn’t understand her. They had known each other for years before Michael actually asked about her singing. Ben had picked up on it in less than twenty-four hours.

“Michael, you don’t get it. Can’t we leave it for me to figure out—on my own?”

“But I want to get it. That’s what marriage is about. You can’t expect me to read your mind. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking, what you need out of life.”

Hannah resisted the urge to hurl the phone into the ocean. Something told her there wasn’t an Apple shop around the corner. The last thing she needed was to be stranded up here in a town of
five people without a phone. She put the phone back to her ear. Michael was still talking.

She interrupted him. “Michael.” He wasn’t listening. “Hear me out!” Finally, silence came from his end of the line. “Today is the last Saturday in September. Give me ten days. I’m going to turn off my phone now. I’ll call you when I’m ready to get on the road for the trip back.”

“What if there’s an emergency?”

“Call 911.”

“I’m serious, Hannah.”

“So am I. In what emergency scenario would I be helpful?” She couldn’t shoot a gun, give CPR, nor fight a fire.

“Okay, okay, you’ve got a point. Promise me you’ll check your phone every night in case I or someone else needs to get in contact with you.”

That was a fair compromise. “I’ll do that, Michael.”

“Please know that I love you, Hannah. I always have, and I always will.”

“You too, Michael.” She pressed ‘end call.’ The words had a
lways felt uncomfortable. But she did love him in her own way. He was like the brother she’d never had. He’d been a friend when she needed one. But he was not Ben.

5

Ben Cooper stood naked in his bedroom. A draft from the open door pebbled his small nipples, and raised the gooseflesh on his skin. On the floor next to him were the torn t-shirt and cutoffs he’d worn that morning when he’d looked at a neighbor’s horse, and worked on the sandy patch of dirt he called a yard. Caring for the horse had taken his mind off Hannah. This horse was fairly domesticated, but he’d learned in his many years of practice never to take his eyes off an animal—especially one that large. A moment of inattention and a shoed-horse hoof could kick him in the balls. He was on the fence about having children, but wanted to decide for himself.

Smooth black microfiber boxer briefs whispered against his skin as he pulled them in place. In spite of the adult looking u
nderwear, he still felt as nervous as a thirteen-year-old going to his first middle school dance. He shook his whole body like a wet dog, trying to get rid of his nervousness. What should he wear? What would Hannah want to photograph him in? He looked at the paltry selection in his large walk in closet. He had two suits, still in their dry cleaner bags, and a few dress shirts, mostly for family occasions. The ten pairs of pants hanging from the otherwise empty rods did nothing to fill the small bedroom the previous owner had turned into a closet. His few pairs of shoes would have made Imelda Marcos feel like she was in a prison camp. Even the ten or twenty long sleeved shirts, that Ben preferred, were dwarfed in the large room, only occupying two of the many shelves. In the end, he picked clothes that weren’t remarkably different from what he wore yesterday or what he would wear tomorrow.

Ben walked the mile from his house to hers. The damp, chilly air was what he needed to cool his libido. Even in his leather jac
ket, he shivered a little as the chill fog rolled in from the water. Fall had definitely arrived here in the Lost Coast. The scrubland leading to the water had greened a little, casting off its dry, brown summer look. The redwoods, spruces, and pines stood tall along the mountains. Their craggy peaks would soon be covered in snow.

Hannah met Ben at the door, black nylon Tamrac bag slung carelessly over her shoulder. She was as dressed down as he’d ever seen her in the few days of their acquaintance. Except for large silver hoop earrings, she didn’t wear a lick of jewelry. She had on old jeans, worn at the knees and butt, a gray sweatshirt that co
vered everything. Her fingers poked out through a thumb and finger holes in the cuff. Even her sneakers looked like they’d seen a lot of miles. She’d never looked more beautiful to him.

“Do you mind if I bring Cody? He could use a little exercise,” she said by way of greeting.

Ben shoved his quaking hands in his pockets. He’d never been more jittery with a woman. It had been a lot of years, but he knew the feeling. He really liked her and dreaded saying something or doing something that would scare her away. Something in her aloof nature suggested he wouldn’t get many chances with Hannah. He watched as she grabbed the dog’s leash, probably oblivious to his tension, and ushered them out of the house.

“I scouted out some locations this morning. I think we can catch the light if we hurry.” She turned her back on him, and guided the dog down a narrow beach access path. Ben watched her walk away. Hannah had done nothing to restrain the golden brown hair that curled wildly around her head in the damp air. The baggy clothing did nothing to hide her slim figure, especially her small, round butt that he knew would fit perfectly in the palms of his hands if she rode him during lovemaking. She led them all to a small cove on the deserted beach. Off leash, Cody occupied hi
mself picking up and discarding seaweed, small crabs, and running back and forth from the water.

***

Hannah busied herself choosing a lens and fiddling with controls on the camera. Despite years of having one Canon or another as the extension of her right hand, she fumbled with the dials. She gave up and watched him. Ben played with the dog, chasing him, and throwing some object Cody had found. He’d shrugged off his leather jacket, and dropped it carelessly on the beach. He looked so naturally athletic and in tune with the dog. He wore an off-white shirt and gray cords, and she could see the muscles of his shoulders and back move against the thin cotton. She couldn’t help but notice that the shirt was a good contrast against his olive skin. He hadn’t bothered to shave and the two day old stubble added a little bit of the rogue. This she observed with her photographer’s eye.

She wanted to drop the camera, drop the pretense. Her fingers itched to grab his hand and pull him into a long embrace, and have his long, lean body warm her, warding off the chill. She wanted to look into those blue-gray eyes and see desire flare. She wanted him to bend his head and kiss her, blotting out the setting sun and da
rkening clouds looming to the north. If she were looking at him with the eye of a potential lover, she’d have dropped the guise of the camera and suggested they give sex on the beach a try. But she wasn’t. She swung the camera back up to her eye, and the control knobs came as second nature to her again.

Hannah gave in to the impulse to release the shutter, snapping as many candid shots as the camera could handle. The pounding waves drowned out the snap of the shutter and the click of the lens. She hastily looked at a few of the shots on the viewfinder. This was going to be good. She was glad that she had lugged her Ma
cBook with her. The satisfaction of looking at large scale images of Ben was waiting around the corner, even if she couldn’t print anything to tack up on the walls. In her home office, the setup was perfect for making prints with the large printer she often used for house flyers. Thoughts of her home in Newport Beach rose like bile in her throat. She swallowed the unwanted feelings. Hannah closed her eyes for a long moment, willing thoughts of Michael and her Orange County life away. She made her one last candid shot, then caught Ben’s eye.

“I discovered this afternoon that ‘black sand’ was a bit of a misnomer,” she said hoping he didn’t hear the quaver in her voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring something for you to sit on.” Standing ten feet away from him fully clothed, she was more ner
vous than she had been halfway to naked on the small couch in the house.

“It’s okay,” he said, lowering himself onto his leather jacket on the pebble-strewn beach. “I’m used to it by now.”

Hannah turned to aperture priority mode. She pressed the function button until her customized monochrome setting appeared on the screen. A wide-open aperture, black and white, and her favorite eighty-five millimeter portrait lens would suit Ben in this setting.

Hannah’s hands felt sure and her stomach stopped roiling as she looked through the camera lens. This always happened when she lost herself in her craft. She asked him to try a myriad of poses. Whether he was sitting with his knees up, or squatting, or standing looking out into the distance, in every picture she made sure to focus on Ben’s incredible eyes. He never once looked away from her. Somewhere in her mind, she knew, knew he was looking into her soul. She hoped the big black camera masked her deception.

Hannah lowered the shutter speed for the third time. The light was giving out on her. She’d shot on the beach countless times in Los Angeles, and evening fog had always been a godsend. The harsh California sunshine gave way to open shade as the marine layer pushed on shore. No matter how beautiful the subject, and there was no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., direct sunlight benefitted no one. But the fog here on the Lost Coast had come in thick and fast, bringing darkness. With regret, she realized her too-short session with Ben was over.

Hannah pulled the cap from her jeans front pocket and snapped it over her lens.

“That’s it?” Ben asked.

She whistled for Cody and the canine came running. “There’s no light left out here.” A thought came to her, unbidden. Could she convince Ben to continue their session indoors? She thought she could adjust the light indoors to give her some great shots with a completely different mood.

“Did you get what you need?” His question gave her the opening she needed.

“I’d really like to get a few more. Would you be game?”

“Absolutely.” Ben looked at the watch on his wrist.

“Do you have to be somewhere?”

“No, it’s only seven.” His eyes met hers. “I’m not quite ready to call it a night, if you’re not.” Her stomach bottomed out. Hannah opened the zip pouch of the camera bag and took out the nylon leash, trying and failing three times before hooking it to Cody’s collar.

They made their way back with the sky darkening more quickly than she had ever seen it. She’d pulled the door closed only seconds before a first thunderclap sent Cody skidding under a wingback chair, tail between his legs.

“He’ll be there the rest of the night.” Ben’s stomach rumbled in the too quiet house. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

He shrugged, and smiled sheepishly. “Maybe a little.”

“I threw together some chicken salad. Help yourself. I’m going to set up some lighting.” When she was focused on getting a great shot, all her hunger disappeared. Coupled with her attraction, she couldn’t imagine ever eating again.

While he fiddled around in the kitchen, she grabbed the cand
elabra from the dining room table. The heavy pewter and silver piece that had seemed gaudy and overwrought before, was perfect now. She placed it on a small cherry table in the bedroom turned study, and lit the candles with matches she’d found earlier. Hannah moved a heavy leather club chair in front of the water-streaked window. The water trailed an irregular but fascinating pattern down the smooth glass. She wanted to capture that. She got her camera and tripod and made the necessary adjustments.

Ben’s entry into the small study startled her. Flickering light from the lit tapers was the only illumination in the otherwise dark room.

“The chicken salad was good. You shouldn’t…” Ben trailed off.

“Can you sit there?” Hannah asked, directing him to club chair. When he’d sat, she reached out to touch him, then pulled her hands back. “I’m sorry, do you mind if I…” she pantomimed arranging his limbs.

“You don’t need to ask my permission to touch me.”

Hannah didn’t want to speculate on his meaning. She would love to have permission to touch him anytime she pleased. She put her nervousness, her feelings, her lust out of her mind as best she could. In the flickering light, she grasped his hands and arranged them on the table, propping his head up. She smoothed his hair,
pulling it forward in a way that anyone who viewed the photograph on display would find sexy. Not able to help herself, Hannah smoothed her hands across the arches of his eyebrows, and prominent bones of his nose, and across his lips. She was startled when he broke his pose, grabbed her hand, and pulled her in for a kiss. It was awkward at first, with her standing. She felt every inch of her five ten height, like she had when she was a gawky teenager. He remedied that when he pulled her onto his lap, and deepened the kiss. All thoughts of her height and her clumsiness fled her mind.

Something akin to an electric current coursed through her veins. It was heaven feeling this again. Nothing had felt like this since Lucas almost twenty years ago. She avoided kissing Michael. How had she thought she could stay in a half-assed marriage with Michael? Guilt warred with desire. She broke the kiss with Ben. She wanted this man with a passion she hadn’t felt in years. Was it fair to Ben or her to start something when she didn’t have any idea where it could go?

Fuck fairness.

She stood, and reached for the camera she had set down on the daybed. “Let me get this shot.”

Ben repositioned himself and looked where directed. She ditched the tripod and propped the camera on a
semanier
instead. Thirty shots in, she was satisfied she’d got what she wanted. Hannah put the lens cap back on one final time, and turned on the light switch near the door. Light would make sex less likely.

The harsh overhead light did nothing to make Ben less attra
ctive or lessen her desire for him. She wanted nothing more than to pull him down on the scratchy daybed cover and have her way with him. Instead, she did something far more responsible.

“Don’t you need to get home?”

“Can I ask you a favor?”

She knitted her brows questioningly. Of course, she’d probably give him anything he wanted right about now, even if that som
ething was a blow job. She nodded. “Sure.”

He grinned. Clearly he’d heard the quaver, the question in her answer. “I need a ride home. I walked over, but with the rain… “

“Oh. Of course.” She shook the cobwebs and thoughts of pleasuring him, from her brain.

“Why didn’t you drive over?” Hannah peered through the swirling rain and swishing wipers, trying to see where the street ended.

“Thinking about you, Hannah, made me so hard that I needed that mile to cool down,” he said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t want to go all caveman, drag you upstairs and do what we’ve both been thinking about.”

She ground to a stop well past the red octagonal sign, jerking them both forward in the car. Maybe this was why the salesman had stressed the importance of antilock brakes. Ben directed her the rest of the short distance to his house. In the pouring rain, she couldn’t see where he’d been holing up the last two years.

Hannah cut the engine. The steamy cabin of the car felt more intimate than a bedroom. The rain pelting the metal roof was muted, but made it feel like they were in a world of their own.