“Shhhhh. No jokes.”
He couldn’t resist, though. “Scout? Is it you?” he asked, and both of us started laughing again. Actually, I loved laughing with him, loved that he could make me laugh.
I put my hands in Brendan’s thick hair and kissed him over and over. I loved the sensation of his skin rubbing against mine. I loved his smell. I touched the soft curls on his chest, then ran my hands down the length of his body. I was taking him all in, learning about him. I wanted to consume Brendan, and in every way that I could, I did. I couldn’t deny my feelings anymore. I didn’t want to.
Brendan tenderly kissed my breasts, the hollow of my throat, my mouth, my eyelids; then he did it all over again. I was completely lost. He was so gentle and good. He murmured my name, his hands gliding over my body. He had a wonderful touch, and it gave me goose bumps.
“You’re beautiful without your clothes on, even more beautiful than I imagined,” he said. It was very nice to hear, just the right thing. I doubt that he knew how much I needed to hear that. I hadn’t been to bed with anybody in over a year and a half.
“So are you,” I said.
“I’m beautiful?”
“Yep, you are.”
We didn’t hold anything back; there was no shyness, not too many first-time nerves. It was as if this had always been meant to happen. Maybe that was even true. After a while we rested in each other’s arms, whispering. I couldn’t stop staring into Brendan’s incredible eyes.
All of my fear was gone, all of the uncertainty and doubt. Finally, we lay on our sides, facing each other, snuggled in so tight that there was no space between us. My legs were hooked around his waist, his knees tucked into mine.
That’s how we slept.
When I woke up, I was still in Brendan’s arms. I had to admit I liked it there.
“Scout?” he whispered, and I punched him in the arm.
“See, you’re still a tomboy.”
“How can you say that—after last night?”
“Right. A tomgirl. Definitely agirl. No, you’re a beautiful woman, Jennifer. You make me so happy.”
I hugged him tightly, and just then “the crack of dawn” sliced through the part in the curtains.
Almost on cue, Brendan’s eyes widened, and there was that amazing smile of his.
“We’re off!” he said.
How could I possibly say no?
Not wearing any swimsuits, we ran like little kids out into the yard. A flock of startled ducks flew up through the mist that was rising off the lake as we thundered down the dock. The planks clanked and clunked beneath our bare feet.
We screamed as we dove into the crystal-clear lake.
As if everything was right with the world, instead of terribly, terribly wrong.
Forty-three
I VISITED SAMthat morning and I had to tell her everything. In the past Sam would have said, “You’re bubbling over. Slow down, Jennifer.” But I couldn’t slow down; there wasn’t time. Still, we talked—well, I talked—for over an hour.
“Sam, I don’t feel guilty anymore, and I don’t much want to examine why. Maybe it’s because Brendan is sick. I have to try and do something. What do you think, Grandmother? I need your help. You’ve been resting long enough.” But Sam had nothing to say to me, and it was terribly sad and frustrating. All my life, she had always been there.
Later in the morning I had a meeting with Max Weisberg. I needed a second opinion, and not about Sam. I wanted to talk to Max about Brendan.
I followed the charming aromas of burned macaroni and coffee to the hospital coffee shop, a cafeteria-style room with Formica tables and a commanding view of the parking lot. I filled a paper cup with sugar and coffee, then turned to see Dr. Max sitting at one of the tables near the window.
I’d met with Max so many times in the past couple of weeks, he’d almost lost his power to intimidate. Actually, he looked really young, sitting across from me in his scrubs. His brush-cut blond hair was standing at attention as he polished off dry rye toast and black coffee.
“Yum,” I said.
