Wedding Ring (29 page)

She lifted the lid of the cigar box where she kept petty cash and was relieved to see there were several quarters. She gave him two, dropping them quickly in his palm before they tarnished.

“Well, enjoy your stay at Dan-D’s,” she said. “It’s probably the last time in your life you’ll have the chance to peel potatoes.”

“Unless I join the service.”

She could imagine him in a uniform. He would wear it well. Of course he would be an officer.

He turned to go, but halfway to the door, he turned back. “You have a boyfriend, Nancy?”

For a moment she didn’t know what to say. But something was required, because she saw he wasn’t going to leave until he knew. “There’s not a boy in these parts that ever interested me,” she said at last. It was close enough to the truth.

“I’ll bet more than a few of them have been interested in you.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

His gaze drifted lower than her face to the V of her blouse. The gaze was not insolent, not exactly. But when it wandered back to her face again, his answer was clear even before he spoke. “They’ve got two eyes in these parts, don’t they?”

Her cheeks heated. He was clearly a college man trying to stay in shape until he could get back to his college girls. She had been assessed and found promising. For some reason that upset her.

“You forgot something,” she said. She reached under the table and found one of the soft tomatoes her mother planned to can that evening. She hiked it back over her shoulder and lobbed it directly at him.

He didn’t try to catch it. He was quick on his feet and dodged just in time. The tomato splatted against the door frame and dribbled to the dirt below.

“What was that for?” he said.

“Just one more tomato for your money, college man. Wouldn’t want to be accused of shortchanging you now, would I?”

“You know, I don’t think you
could
shortchange me.” He smiled his perfect smile once more; then he gave a mock salute, turned and started back out to his car. But he moved quickly, like he wasn’t quite sure she was done pitching tomatoes.

She watched the Corvette streak out of the parking area and back out to Route 11. She was afraid the most exciting moment of her summer had just come and gone.

Billy came to the stand every day after that. For a week Nancy told herself he was just bored, that he didn’t know anybody, and she was a pretty enough face he could chat with. Sometimes he arrived when Helen was there, and he made respectful, easy conversation with her—although Helen resisted his charm with every bit of her considerable natural immunity.

He bought cucumbers and tomatoes, bushels of sweet corn and baskets of green peppers. He claimed that everyone at that Dan-D told him that theirs was the only produce in the area worth having. But Nancy suspected there was more to his visits than silver queen corn vs. golden bantam.

On Friday evening, one week after Billy first stopped by, she was sitting on the front porch of the Fitch Crossing house with her feet propped on the railing. Helen, who’d been up since before dawn, was already in bed. Nancy was too exhausted to sleep after an impossibly drawn-out day in which everyone who had stopped by the market had been long-winded and short on anything interesting to say. If she’d heard one more word about Mrs. Maidie’s bunions, she would have dropped a bucket of tomatoes on the old woman’s foot just to give her something new to talk about.

And for the first day since their initial meeting, Billy had not stopped by the market.

She heard the purr of an engine before she saw the beams of the headlights illuminating the road. And she saw the headlights for several seconds before she recognized the car. As she watched, Billy Whitlock’s Corvette slowed, then stopped, just a little past their driveway. The car rolled backwards, and he turned in.

“I’ll be darned.” Before the words were out, she realized how she looked. She had showered and washed her hair when she got home, and it was still wet. She had dragged on cheap flowered shorts and a blue tummy tickler like the ones she’d worn as a little girl, and her shoes were up in her bedroom. She had nothing on her face except a frown and some errant annoying freckles. She looked, in short, about twelve.

He was parked and out of the car before she could flee.

“Nice evening,” he said, stopping beside the drooping maples in the front yard.

He was waiting to be invited up. Her mind darted in every possible direction, but there was no way around it. She beckoned, and he started up the stairs.

“Don’t tell me you were just out driving around,” she said.

“May I sit?”

She motioned to the chair across from her, but he chose the swing beside her, nudging her to the edge with his hip.

Sparks shot through her at the feel of his body so close to hers. She’d lain awake at night for a week trying to imagine a moment like this one, but her experience was so limited, her imagination hadn’t had much to work with.

“Dan told me where you lived,” he said.

“Everybody knows where I live. Everybody knows everything about everybody here.”

“This really is the country, isn’t it?”

By now she knew he was from Richmond. She knew from the car, from the clothes and the educated accent that he was from
rich
Richmond, no stutter intended.

“You’ll have to watch yourself at UVA next year,” she said, “or next time you might end up out here in real purgatory, pulling weeds and mucking out the barn.”

“I didn’t mean to make the country sound like a bad thing. It’s pretty out here. The whole area’s pretty.”

She couldn’t see that, of course. Pretty to her would be sidewalks and shops, big houses with landscaped yards, women in pillbox hats and soft white gloves at parties on sweeping green lawns.

“Why’re you here?” she asked. “Why aren’t you scrubbing pots?”

“It’s my night off.”

“On Friday?”

“Dan’s got family who come in to help on weekend nights. He doesn’t need me. I worked hard and got my part done by five.”

“That’s why you didn’t come to the stand?”

“You noticed, huh? Did you miss me?”

She had missed him the way a gray sky misses sunshine. Her job was intolerable. Her
life
was intolerable, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. Then Billy Whitlock had appeared, and suddenly there was a reason to get up in the morning, to plan and dream a little.

“You’re not answering,” he pointed out.

Her hands were trembling. She was such a novice, such a beginner, such a hick. She closed her eyes. “Billy, what is it you want?”

“What do you mean?”

Whatever veneer of sophistication she had managed until then melted away. “I’m nobody, and you’re somebody. I’m poor, and you’re rich. I’m a country girl, you’re a city boy.”

“You’re blond, I’m brunette,” he said, a grin in his voice.

She stamped her foot, and the gentle rocking of the swing quieted. “I’m serious and you’re not!”

“Nancy, I don’t want anything except a little company. I’m going to be here another couple of months. Can’t we just spend some time together? Get to know each other? Have a little fun? I like you. Don’t you like me?”

She opened her eyes and turned so she could see him. It was a mistake. He was leaning toward her. Their lips were only inches apart, and it was too late to withdraw without making a fuss.

She didn’t want to make a fuss. She wanted to kiss him. She supposed she wanted more, but that was a start.

The kiss, when it was finalized, was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was practiced, and she was not, but he didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t quite sure where to put her nose or how wide to part her lips. He smiled against them.

“You like that?” he asked softly.

“Uh-huh.”

And she liked the next one, and the next, and everything else that came after it in the following weeks, even better.

B
efore Kayley died, Saturday was a special day, and Mack had religiously cleared his schedule to spend it with Tessa and their daughter. After Kayley’s death, Saturday became the longest day of the week, and the only way he could get through it was to stay busy.

This particular Saturday threatened to stretch into eternity. There were no household chores to do. The cleaning lady had come the day before, and the house was not only spotless and more austere than usual, the refrigerator was stocked with items he’d asked her to buy.

His computer had yielded no e-mail of note; the answering machine was still turned off; even his Palm Pilot showed nothing on the day’s schedule, since a golf game—never his favorite sport anyway—had been canceled. There was no dog to walk in the park, no wife to take out to breakfast, no daughter….

He made himself cereal, showered and shaved, and confronted the fact that he had the perfect day to drive to Toms Brook and no desire to do so.

Dressing in the bedroom, he realized his loneliness had reached crisis proportions. He was desperate to color in the spaces in his life. His wife was emotionally unavailable; their past had been erased.

Their past had been erased.

He looked around at the empty dresser top and night tables, at the wall where Kayley’s framed artwork had hung. Suddenly his day no longer stretched in front of him like an empty vessel with nothing to fill it.

An hour later he stood back and gazed at his handiwork, recovered from boxes in the basement. The living room had been transformed. On the fireplace mantel the lumpy uneven vase Kayley had crafted at summer day camp held a handful of silk daisies. Framed photographs of Kayley alone, Kayley with friends, Kayley with her parents and Biscuit, adorned shelves and end tables. The dragon kite she had given him on her last Christmas hung from a wall.

They had flown kites from the highest hill at Helen’s house. He had so many memories of Kayley and her kites….

He felt triumphant that he had brought this small part of his daughter back into his life. He also felt enormously saddened that this was all he could do.

The sound of the doorbell finally penetrated, and he realized it might not be the first summons. He went to the door and found Erin in khaki cargo shorts and a neon orange shirt that was unzipped to the top of her breasts. She had a royal-blue bike helmet tucked under her arm and was just turning away.

“Erin.” He grinned at her. “Nice day for a ride?”

“Only until noon. I thought I’d get some exercise before it really turns hot.”

“It’s what, eighty-seven, eighty-eight out there now? Cool as a mountain stream.”

She smiled her Midwestern beauty-queen smile. “Anyway, I saw your car and wondered if you’d like to take a spin. You have a bike, don’t you?”

She had seen his car, but not his wife’s. He was sure she must have checked carefully.

He had a bike. He hadn’t ridden it since his daughter’s death. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might still have a child’s seat on it from the days when Kayley hadn’t been able to ride a bike on her own. She had ridden solo by the time she was four. He had been so proud….

“You don’t look like a man who wants exercise,” she said after a moment of reading his expression. “I’ll be on my way.”

“No, it’s just that my bike is probably a mess. I haven’t ridden it…in a while. But you look like you could use a drink. I’ve got iced tea. Fruit juice…”

“You’re not busy?”

“No.” He realized he should have been, that even if he wasn’t busy, he should have said he was. He was lonely, vulnerable and very attracted to her. It was a lethal combination.

“Well, I’ll take a short break, then I’ll be off.” She unclipped her hair and shook it out. He was reminded of sunbeams.

She followed him inside. They stopped in the living room, and she gazed around. “It’s a lovely house, Mack.” She went to the photographs immediately, lifting one of Kayley posing on a birthday party pony. “They don’t make them cuter, do they?”

He admired her careful phrasing. No past tense to be found. “She was already after us for real riding lessons. Tessa was shopping around for a good program.”

“I’m glad you have reminders in view. When Jeff died, my parents packed up everything in the house. They’re unhappy with me for having his photos on the wall in my apartment.”

“Let’s see what I’ve got in the fridge.” He led the way into the kitchen. He had been here earlier, as well. Pot holders Kayley had woven hung from hooks. Ceramic canisters of a cat, a mouse and one big wedge of Swiss cheese lined a counter. A Cookie Monster cookie jar straight from Sesame Street perched on another, as if asking to be filled with Kayley’s favorites. She had chosen it on a family shopping spree.

With the refrigerator door open, he catalogued the contents out loud. “Bottled tea, ice water, apple juice—”

“Ice water will be great.”

He took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice, then added filtered water from a pitcher. She took it gratefully. “My bottled water was as hot as I was.” She leaned against the counter and sipped. “How are things, Mack?”

He hadn’t seen her since their aborted dinner at the Siam Palace. He was surprised she had sought him out again.

“I’m busy at work.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I thought we ought to talk about the other night.”

“I’m sorry, Erin. I should have called to apologize sooner. I just wasn’t sure whether it would make you feel worse. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but I know it was awkward.”

“For you, too.”

That was like her. She was a generous woman, and more than half in love with him. He had accepted both the generosity and the affection like a drowning man grabbing for a life buoy.

“I just wanted to say that…” She paused. “That I don’t want anybody to get hurt here. I think we should back off until your life is in order.”

That was code, he knew, for “until you’ve filed for divorce.”

“I’m not cut out to be the other woman,” she added ruefully. “Not even when your marriage is hanging by a thread.”

She tried to smile, but her eyes were glazed with tears. Maybe he wouldn’t have reached out to her if they hadn’t been. He didn’t really know. He was close enough to touch her cheek, and he did.

Maybe if she hadn’t nestled against his palm, even for a moment, he would have dropped his hand and the intimacy would have ended. But instead his fingers crept to her hair, and he brought her face to his.

And maybe if she hadn’t kissed him back, if she had withdrawn or protested or not parted her lips…But they were so soft against his, so available, so ardent.

He moved closer and pinned her to the counter with his body. She was soft against him, her breasts full and lushly female, her scent an earthy mixture of cinnamon and sweat. Her arms came around him, enfolding him so that he was half of something again, part of a couple united by desire. He felt himself growing hard against her softness, and he knew that if she didn’t stop him, if he didn’t stop himself, they would be united by more than a wish very soon. And he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to be part of something again, part of
someone
.

He circled her with his arms, and his hand brushed something cool and smooth on the counter. Before he could react, the cookie jar, Kayley’s cookie jar, fell to its side and rolled to the floor with a crash.

Erin pulled away and looked down where the shattered jar lay in brown and bright blue pieces. “Oh, Mack, I’m so sorry.”

He wasn’t touching her now. He wasn’t sure how he had moved away so quickly, or how he had moved toward her in the first place. Reality washed over him. And still, staring at the woman who was not his wife, the woman who might replace Tessa if he ended his marriage, he wanted to go back in time, not to the moments before he had taken Erin in his arms, but to the moment when she had been there, when he had been part of something again, when he had felt almost whole.

Shock hadn’t reduced his erection, but now he knew that he could no more make love to her than he could explain himself in words.

He wanted this woman, but he knew she was not the woman he really wanted. He liked Erin; perhaps he was even a little bit in love with her. But it wasn’t Erin he needed. He wanted and needed what he could never have again. He wanted the life he and Tessa had built together. He wanted the little family that had gone to the store and chosen the cookie jar that now lay shattered at his feet.

A sob rose in his throat. He put his hands to his cheeks and took a deep breath to choke it down.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “And now I’m going to ask you to leave.”

She backed away, sliding along the counter. “I’m going to stay away, Mack. For good. I’ve been coming to the meetings to see
you
. I realized it this morning. I’ve moved beyond needing to attend so often, but I’ve come to meetings anyway because you’re always there. And that’s wrong. I’m going to stay away.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“No, it’s both our faults,” she said. “And I’ve become exactly the kind of woman I despise the most, the kind who goes after another woman’s husband. Maybe I was even trying to force the issue by coming here.”

“Maybe I was trying to force it by asking you inside.”

She continued to slide along the counter until she was nearly at the kitchen door. “Go back to her, Mack. You’re not ready to pull the plug. Do whatever you have to.”

It was a noble speech, and he was pretty sure it was honestly meant. But he couldn’t tell her he appreciated it, because he couldn’t speak.

A minute later he heard the front door close.

And he was alone again.

Tessa had finally admitted to her mother and grandmother that she was staking out Robert Owens’s house. She had come to Ma-nassas twice already, returning home late both nights, and after the second time the questions about her whereabouts had worn her down. Neither woman had been happy, but they had been more understanding than Mack.

Tonight was officially Diana’s shift, but she had a family birthday party she needed to attend. Diana was taking Tessa’s shift tomorrow to make up for tonight, and Tessa was watching for the second night in a row.

This time she had dared to park directly across the street from the house, since a much-needed thunderstorm was supposed to move in, and she knew she probably wouldn’t be detected. Not many of the tiny ranch houses in the Owenses’ development had carports or garages, and because the front yards were narrow, most driveways had room for only one car. This street was lined with vehicles, and with the added bonus of tinted windows, she doubted anyone would ever notice she was sitting here.

So far Owens hadn’t been spotted leaving his house at night, although he had been seen at home either picking up the mail in the roadside mailbox, doing yard work, or sitting on the stoop smoking a cigarette. If he was drinking, he was doing it in the privacy of his own home, and he wasn’t driving. At least, no one had caught him.

They had only watched his house for four nights, though, counting this one. But this was Saturday, the hardest night to stay away from the bars or parties. He was a young man fresh out of prison. Young men with a record like his were prone to showing off and acting out. Tessa was sure that if she was patient, if she bided her time, he would make a mistake.

She shifted in her seat and tried to make herself more comfortable. She had considered bringing headphones, but she was afraid music might put her to sleep or a book on tape would become so interesting she might not watch as carefully. She had packed pen and paper to write a letter to a college friend, but she was afraid to concentrate on anything except the Owenses’ front door.

Two hours passed, and the storm moved in, splashing the first raindrops on her windshield at about eight o’clock. She hadn’t seen any sign of Owens tonight, although she knew he was home, because she had heard his mother calling to him from the front yard when she went out for the mail.

To Tessa, the mother looked beaten down, like a dog who’d been kicked once too often and never quite recovered its trust or vitality. She was probably only in her forties, but she looked considerably older, stooped and pasty-faced. Tessa had noticed a flicker of something younger, though, something brighter, when she turned toward the house to call to her son. Tessa was sorry to see that hopeful expression, that momentary thrusting back of shoulders. She obviously cared about Robert, and she was bound to be hurt again.

The sky was now a mass of angry clouds. Lightning slashed the horizon, and ozone scented each gust of wind. It reminded Tessa of the night she, Nancy and Helen had danced in the rain. There was no reason for late-night treasure hunts anymore. Last week, tired of digging fruitlessly for the third tin, Nancy had rented a metal detector. The women had found the third one in fifteen minutes’ time. Now Helen’s money was safely in the bank, and generous sprigs of periwinkle thrived in the freshly dug areas.

The front door opened, and Mrs. Owens peeked out, as if hoping the rain would halt momentarily. Then, with no umbrella, she scurried to the car parked in her driveway, opened the door and dropped into the driver’s seat. Lights and windshield wipers on, she backed out of the drive and drove away.