Words failed him. I loved that, loved making him speechless with pleasure. When I pushed him over the edge, I felt like Arch Woman of the Universe.
He pulled me into his arms afterward so that I lay on top of him, skin to skin. “Hope,” he whispered. He put his hands in my hair and turned my face so that his lips could reach mine. “You’re...”
Something on the floor beside us crackled. I froze, thinking it was a mouse—and then, suddenly, over the rain thrumming on the roof, I heard a babbling sound, like a voice. Terror shot through me. “What’s that?” I whispered.
“The baby monitor. Sophie sometimes talks in her sleep.”
“Oh.” I blew out a relieved sigh, then abruptly rolled off him. “That monitor—does it just work one way?” I asked.
“You mean, can they hear us?”
I nodded.
He grinned. “I know leaving the house and having sex in a neighbor’s shed probably won’t earn me the Father of the Year award, but trust me, I stopped short of broadcasting our little interlude into my daughters’ room.”
Of course he had. Of course he’d thought of his girls. And then his actual words hit me. “Was that what it was? A ‘little interlude’?”
“Well, it wasn’t a full concert, that’s for sure. You had me so turned on that if we’d had protection, I’d be embarrassed at my lack of self-control.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” I swallowed and looked down, feeling curiously close to tears. “‘Interlude’ just sound so...” Small. Transient. Insignificant. I struggled to find a less needy-sounding word. “... seedy.”
His lip quirked in a grin. “Well, thisisa potting shed.”
I elbowed him, but his humor had lightened my mood.
He cupped my face. “Hope, that’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. I’m crazy about you.”
“Me, too.”
Emotion hummed between us, then Sophie murmured again through the monitor. I reached for my shorts and scrambled into them. “You’d better get back home before your girls wake up.”
“Yeah.” He kissed me on the nose, then pulled on his clothesand folded the blanket. I closed the window while he put the blanket back on the shelf, then he ran out and retrieved the fireplace poker from the lawn. He handed it to me, ushered me out, then locked the door and put the key back on top of the shutter. “I’ll wait until you’re safely inside.”
I ran through the rain, aware of him watching me, and turned to wave once I opened the kitchen door. Lightning lit the sky, and I saw him move through the hedge.
I hurried upstairs, still clutching the poker. I didn’t trust my hand to be steady enough to return it to the hearthside tool rack without waking Gran or the aide, and I didn’t want to have to explain myself or my actions. How could I explain something I didn’t really understand myself? Besides, all I wanted to do was get into bed and relive every thrilling moment.
41
adelaide
Iopened my eyes see a pair of overly cheerful morning aides standing by my bed.
“Top of the mornin’ to you, dearie!”
“Good morning.” I rubbed my eyes, which temporarily reduced the number of aides by half.
“Do you need something? I thought I heard you talking.”
“Must have been talking in my sleep.” Seems easier to tell her that than to admit the truth: I see dead people.
Oh, I know that’s not original—I know it’s a line from a recent movie—although Hope would laugh if she heard me call it recent, because it’s probably a dozen or more years old now.
The thing is, I saw Charlie. I think it was a dream, but it seemed as real as my encounters with Mother. It jarred me, because it never occurred to me that I’d have to deal with him again once I’m dead. I guess I hadn’t figured we’d end up in the same place.
But then, it’s also just recently occurring to me that I might have underestimated the mercy of God. That’s a very scary concept, that. If God is as merciful and gracious as the dream suggested, he might have higher standards than my level of forgiveness.
I like to think that I forgave Charlie, but maybe I haven’t, not entirely. If I haven’t, I’d better get to work on that, because it’s going to be harder if Hope unearths what I fear she will.
