Once in a Lifetime (11 page)

"Yes. Let's go."

He followed her out, and she marveled at how good it felt to have someone to take care of her for a change. And suddenly as the cold night air hit their faces outside, she wanted to run. The pain of leaving Andrew was already dim, and she felt more alive than she had in years. She laughed suddenly and skipped to the truck like a little girl, as John walked beside her.

"He's a terrific little kid, you know." He looked at her almost with shared pride as he started the engine. "You've done one hell of a fine job."

"That's just the way he is. I'm not sure I had anything to do with it."

"Yes, you did. And don't you forget it." He sounded almost stern as they drove away from the school, and he saw with pleasure that she still looked happy. "Want to go back to the inn for dinner? I feel like celebrating, and I'm -not even sure what." He glanced at her and their eyes met and held. There was a powerful bond forming between them, and she had just shared an important part of her life with him. He was touched and pleased that she had let him meet Andrew.

"How about if I make you dinner instead?"

"Can you cook?" He was teasing and they both laughed. "I eat a lot."

"How about spaghetti?"

"That's it?" He looked shocked and she laughed, feeling like a kid, and suddenly for no reason at all, she remembered the first time she had cooked dinner for Jeff at her apartment. That had been an eternity ago, and she was ashamed to realize that it all seemed dim now, long ago and far away and not entirely real. There were times now when she had the feeling that the memories of Jeffrey were fading. "Just spaghetti?" John's voice brought her back to the present.

"Okay, how about a steak? And a salad."

"I accept. With pleasure," he added, and she laughed again.

"You must cost one hell of a lot to feed, John Fowler."

He looked amused at the look on her face. "Not to worry. I make a healthy wage logging."

"Isn't it dangerous though?" Her brow creased in a small frown. And it pleased him that she was worried.

"Sometimes. Not very often. Most of us know what we're doing. It's the greenies you have to look out for. The young kids who sign on for a summer. They'll kill you, if you don't watch them."

She nodded quietly and they pulled up in front of her house and walked inside, and for the next half hour she was busy cooking. He set the table and did the steaks. She did the spaghetti and the salad, and he looked longingly at the fireplace, and she knew instantly what he was thinking. "It's all right, John. If you want to, go ahead. This room would be pretty with a fire."

"We don't need that. It's pretty without it." But suddenly she wanted him to. She wanted to leave the past behind. She was tired of the terrors and the fears and the agonies of the past.

"Go ahead. Light the fire." There was something about him that made her feel brave.

"I don't want to upset you, Daphne."

"You won't. I think it's time to leave the past." It felt strange to say it, but at long last it did not feel like a betrayal.

He left the table to put on a log, and threw in some kindling. The fire took quickly and she sat staring at it for a long time, thinking not so much of that fateful Christmas night, but of the many times she and Jeff had sat at home on Sunday nights, reading the Sunday papers, and enjoying the fire. Without saying a word, John reached across the table and took her hand, and she found herself thinking of his arm around her shoulders at the school and how good it felt to stand beside him.

"What were you thinking just then? You looked so happy."

Her eyes were aglow from the firelight, and he thought she had been thinking of Jeffrey.

"I was thinking about you. I'm glad you picked me up on the road the other night."

He smiled at the memory too. "I would have picked you up sooner if you hadn't been hiding." They both laughed at the thought, and she brought out two cups of steaming coffee. "You're a good cook."

"Thank you. So are you. The steaks were just right."

He smiled at her almost sadly. "I've had a lot of practice. Fifteen years of doing my own cooking."

"Why didn't you ever remarry?"

"I never wanted to. Never met anyone I cared about that much." "Until now," he wanted to say, but he didn't want to scare her, and he knew it would have. "I guess I didn't want to start over. But you're young enough to, little one. One of these days you should."

She shook her head pensively, looking up at him. "I don't think so. You can't do things 'again' in life, you can't re-create what was. That only comes once in a lifetime."

"That particular experience does. But other experiences come along, which matter just as much. They're just different."

"Look who's talking. You're no different than I am."

"Yes, I am. You're luckier."

"Am I? Why?"

"You have Andrew." They both smiled. "Every once in a while I meet a kid who makes me sorry I didn't have any."

"It's not too late." But he laughed at that.

"I'm an old man, Daphne Fields. I'm fifty-two years old. Hell, I'm old enough to be your father." But she only smiled at that. She didn't see him in that light, and he didn't feel that way toward her either. They were friends on a variety of levels. And she'd never had a friend like him before. Maybe because she'd never been the woman she now was. She had grown strong over the years, stronger than she had ever dreamed. She was an even match for any man. Even a man like John.

They sat on the couch looking into the fire for a while, and it was extraordinary how comfortable she felt beside him. There was something easy and unhurried about him, as though he had a lifetime ahead of him, and plenty of time to enjoy each precious moment. And the sharp sculpture of his face looked beautiful in the light of the fire.

"John ..." She didn't quite know how to say what she felt. Maybe later she would be able to say it in her journal.

"Yes, little one?"

But she couldn't find the right words. At last, in a soft husky voice, she said what she could. "I'm glad I met you."

He nodded slowly, feeling all that she felt, and sensing the peace and understanding that flowed between them. He put an arm around her shoulders then, and she felt the same quiet strength that had felt so good to her earlier that evening. She liked the weight of his arm, the feel of his hand, and the scent of him beside her. It was a rich mixture of after shave and wool and fresh air and tobacco. He smelled the way he looked, like a strong, attractive man who had lived his whole life amid trees and mountains. And he looked down at her then, and saw a tear creep down her cheek. It startled him and he pulled her closer. "Are you sad, love?" His voice was so deep and tender, but she shook her head.

"No ... I'm so happy ... just here, like this...." She looked up at him then, "You must think I'm crazy. But I'm alive again. I feel like I've been half dead for so long. I thought ..." It was hard to say the words but she had to. "I thought I should be dead because they were. I only stayed alive for Andrew. I only lived for him." And now she was living for herself again. At last.

He seemed to pause for an endless time, his face very close to hers, watching her. "You have a right to your own life now, Daphne. You've paid your dues." He kissed her gently on the lips then, and it was as though an arrow shot through her. His touch went to her very core, and she felt breathless as their lips touched and he held her. He took her face in his hands then, and sat looking quietly at her. "Where have you been all my life, Daphne Fields?" He kissed her again, and this time she slipped her arm around his neck and held him close to her. She felt as though she wanted to cling to him for a lifetime and never let go, and he held her as though he would like her to do that.

His hands began to travel slowly over her shoulders after a little while, and then they slipped gently onto her breasts, and at last under her sweater. She uttered a soft little moan, and he held her close, sensing the rising passion within her. He stopped and pulled away after a time, and looked into her eyes. "I don't want to do anything you don't want, little one. I'm an old man. I don't want to take advantage of you." But she shook her head and kissed him as he pulled the pins from her hair, and loosed it from its knot to cascade down her back and over her shoulders. He let his fingers run through it, and touched her face and breasts again, and then the huge hands moved gently to her legs and she couldn't keep herself from writhing with pleasure as he touched her.

"Daphne ... Daphne...." He whispered her name as they lay on the couch beside the fire, his whole body throbbing with desire for her, and then she stood up and took his hand, and led him toward the four-poster in her bedroom. "Are you sure?" He knew how long it had been, and she scarcely knew him. Everything had happened so quickly between them and he didn't want her to do anything she'd regret in the morning. He wanted to know her for a long time, not just for a night, or a moment.

"It's all right." Her voice was the merest whisper as he slowly undressed her, until at last she stood before him, tiny, perfectly formed, her flesh shining in the moonlight, her blond hair almost silver. He picked her up then and slid her into the bed, and carefully took off his own clothes, dropped them to the floor, and slid in beside her. The feel of her satin skin was almost more than he could bear, and he had a hunger for her that was impossible to control as he lay beside her. But it was she who took his face in her hands, who held him close as she arched her body toward him, as slowly, like a forgotten memory come to life with a delicious vengeance, she felt him slip inside her, and she soared to heights that, even with Jeffrey, she had never known. John was an artful and extraordinary lover, and they lay spent at last, side by side, her tiny body intertwined with his as she whispered into his neck that she loved him.

"I love you too, little one. Oh, God, how I love you...." And as he said the words she looked up at him with a sleepy smile, pulled herself more tightly against him as her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep in his arms, a woman again, a woman she had never been ... his woman, and her own. He was right about her. The years had made her strong, stronger than she knew.

"What are these?" John was holding two of Daphne's leather-bound journals in his hands as he stood naked in her kitchen at six o'clock the next morning. She had gotten up to make him breakfast before he left for work, but they had gotten delayed by another intense bout of passion.

She looked over her own naked shoulder with a smile, still amazed at how comfortable she felt with him. "Hm? Oh, those are my journals."

"Can I read them sometime?"

"Sure." She looked faintly embarrassed as she put fried eggs and bacon on the table. "They may sound a little silly though. I've poured out my soul in them."

"There's nothing silly about that." And then he smiled at her naked bottom. "You've got one hell of a great ass, do you know that?"

"Shut up and eat your eggs."

"Talk about the end of a romance." But the romance between them had just begun. They even managed to sneak in one more "quickie" before he left for work an hour later. "I'm not sure I'm strong enough to work today after all that good loving."

"Good, then stay home. I'll take care of you."

"I'll bet you would!" He laughed out loud, zipping up the heavy parka he kept in his truck for work. "You sure do spoil a man, Daphne Fields."

But as she held him tight before he left, she whispered softly, "You're the one who's spoiling me. You make me happier than I've ever been, and I want you to know that."

"I'll remember it all day. I'll pick up some groceries on the way home, and we'll have a quiet dinner. Sound okay to you?"

"It sounds perfect."

"What I'll you do?"

Her eyes sparkled for a moment and she smiled. "Maybe I'll make a new entry in my journal."

"Good. I'll check it out when I come home. See you later, little one." And then he was off, the truck whirring on the gravel as she waved, bare-breasted, from the kitchen window.

The day seemed endless after he left, and she wondered what she had done without him. She thought about going to visit Andrew to pass the time, but it was too soon for another visit. So she stayed home, and cleaned house, and began to write in her journal, but something different rattled around in her head all morning, and after lunch she found herself writing a short story. It came out all in one piece, with a flow of its own, and when it was finished, she sat staring with amazement at the dozen pages she had written. It was the first time she had ever done anything like it.

And when he came home, she was waiting dressed in gray slacks and a bright red sweater. "Don't you look pretty, little one. How was your day?"

"Terrific. But I missed you." It was as though he had always been part of her life and she had waited for him every evening. They cooked dinner together again, with the groceries he had bought, and he told her the anecdotes of the day from the logging camp. It was after that that she showed him her short story, and he read it with delight as they sat by the fire.

"This is marvelous, Daff." He looked at her with obvious pride and pleasure.

"Come on, tell the truth. Is it hokey?"

"Hell, no. It's terrific."

"It's the first one I ever wrote. I don't even know where it came from."

He touched the silky blond hair on her head with a smile. "From here, little one. And I suspect there are lots more stories in there like this one." She had tapped into a resource she didn't even know she had, and she felt an even greater release than she had ever felt when writing her journals.

They made love that night in front of the fire, and again in the four-poster bed, and once again at five thirty the next morning. And he left for work with a song on his lips, and she didn't wait until afternoon this time. She sat down as soon as he left, and wrote another story. It was different from the one she had composed the day before, but when John read it that night, he thought it was better. "You've got a damn powerful style to your writing, Daff." And after that he spent weeks reading all of her journals.