“Think you could get it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“… Well?”
Their gazes met then, and they both began to smile. If they’d been back in New York, they’d probably have made love again there and then, lest they lose the opportunity. But they were in Vermont, with the luxury of an entire weekend before them. There was something to be said for patience, and anticipation.
With a decidedly male growl, Web dragged her to his side and started off toward the bedroom, where he’d left their bags. Moments later, dressed in terry velour robes that were coincidentally similar in every respect but color—Web’s was wine, Marni’s white—they set to the very pleasant task of making dinner together. When Web opted out of chores such as slicing tomatoes and mushrooms for a salad, claiming that he was hampered by his injured hand, Marni mischievously remarked that his injured hand hadn’t hampered his amorous endeavors. When Marni opted out of putting a match to the pilot light of the stove, claiming that she didn’t like to play with fire, Web simply arched a devilish brow in silent contradiction.
They ate by the fire, finishing the wine they’d barely sipped earlier. Then, leaving their dishes on the floor nearby, they made sweet, slow love again. This time each touched and tasted the spots that had been denied earlier; this time they both reached independent peaks before their bodies finally joined. The lack of urgency that resulted made the coming together and the leisurely climb and culmination all the more meaningful. Though their bodies would give out in time, they knew, their emotional desire was never-ending.
After talking, then listening to soft music for a while as they gazed into the fire, they finally retired to Web’s big bed. When they fell asleep in each other’s arms, they felt as satisfied as if they’d made love yet again.
Saturday was a sterling day, one to be remembered by them both for a long time to come. They slept late, awoke to make love, then devoured a hearty brunch in the kitchen. Though the snow had stopped sometime during the night, the fresh inch or two on top of the existing crust gave a crispness, a cleanness to the hilly woodlands surrounding the cabin.
Bundled warmly against the cold, they took a long walk in the early afternoon. It didn’t matter that Marni couldn’t begin to make out a path; Web knew the woods by heart, and she trusted him completely.
“So beautiful …” Her breath was a tiny cloud, evaporating in the dry air as she looked around her. Tall pines towered above, their limbs made all the more regal by the snowy epaulets they wore. Underfoot the white carpet was patterned, not only by the footprints behind them and the tracks of birds and other small forest creatures, but by the swish of low-hanging branches in the gentle breeze and the fall of powdery clumps from branches. The silence was so reverent across the mountainside that she felt intrusive even when she murmured in awe, “Don’t you wish you had a camera?”
It had been a totally innocent question, an unpremeditated one. Realizing the joke in it, Marni grinned up at Web. “That was really dumb. Youdohave a camera … cameras. I’d have thought you’d be out here taking pictures of everything.”
He smiled back at her, thoroughly relaxed. “It’s too peaceful.”
“But it’s beautiful!”
“A large part of that beauty is being here with you.”
She gave a playful tug at the arm hers was wrapped around. “Flattery, flattery—”
“But I’m serious. Look around you now and try to imagine that you were alone, that we didn’t have each other, that you were here on the mountain running away from some horrible threat or personal crisis…. How would you feel?”
“Cold.”
“Y’see? People see things differently depending on where they’re coming from. Right now I’m exactly where I want to be. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as happy or content in my life. So you’re right, this scene is absolutely beautiful.”
Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, then tightened her arm through his. “Do you ever photograph up here?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a camera up here.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. This is my getaway. I knew from the first that if I allowed myself to bring a camera here, it wouldn’t be a true escape.”
“But you love photography, don’t you?”
“I love my work, but photography in and of itself has never become an obsession with me. I’ve met some colleagues, both men and women, whose cameras are like dog tags around their necks. It gives them their identity. I’ve never wanted that. The camera is the tool of my trade, much like a calculator or computer is for an accountant, or a hammer is for a carpenter. Have you ever seen a carpenter go away for the weekend with his tool belt strapped around his waist just in case he sees a nail sticking out on someone’s house or on the back wall of a restaurant?”
Marni grinned. “No, I guess I haven’t … Why are you looking at me that way?”
“You just look so pretty, all bundled up and rosy-cheeked. You look as happy and content as I feel. I almost wish I did have a camera, but I’m not sure I could begin to capture what you are. Some things are better left as very special images in the mind.” He grew even more pensive.
“What is it?” she asked softly.
“Impulse time. Can I do it, too?”
“Sure. What’s your impulse?”
“To photograph you out here in the woods. In the summer. Stark naked.”
