Authors: Sarah Mayberry
“We’re pretty much ready to go now, I think.”
They piled into his wagon and drove to the restaurant. He shot
Angie an apologetic look as they entered the overly bright, too noisy family
section of the pub.
“I have a feeling I’m going to owe you dinner to make up for
this dinner.”
“What are you talking about? This place is great. It’s got a
dessert bar
and
a playroom,” Angie said. “Not to
mention about a million slot machines in the adults’ part.”
Eva fixed her big, pleading brown gaze on him. “Can I go play?
Please?”
She was already starting to edge away and he reached out and
caught the collar of her coat and made her pick a meal from the menu before
letting her disappear into the playroom. He and Angie settled at a table in the
corner and he headed to the counter to order their food, returning with a number
in a metal holder and two glasses of beer.
They talked casually and easily, neither of them going out of
their way to fill the occasional silence that fell. Another thing to like about
Angie—she didn’t mind silence. In fact, he suspected, like him, she sometimes
preferred it.
Their meals came and Angie went in search of Eva, hauling her
to the table long enough to wolf down her burger before racing off again.
Charlie wanted to play, too, once he’d eaten a handful of chips and smeared the
rest into the table. Michael took him into the rubber-floored toddler playpen
and let him loose, watching with a smile as Charlie immediately raced to the
roundabout and began pushing it round and around. As far as his son was
concerned, there was nothing better in life than being dizzy.
“Here.”
Angie nudged his arm with her elbow and he saw she was carrying
two more beers.
“Thanks.”
“Also, I thought I’d better warn you that a bunch of the women
from Billie’s mothers’ group came in.”
Michael glanced over his shoulder and immediately made eye
contact with Gerry, who gave him a little finger wave. She was standing with
half a dozen other women he vaguely recognized.
“Whoops. Now you can’t pretend you didn’t see them,” Angie said
out of the corner of her mouth.
Gerry started walking toward him, another woman falling in
behind her.
“I will pay you a thousand dollars to stay by my side for the
next ten minutes,” he said quietly to Angie, the smile never leaving his
face.
She grinned. “I should so hold you to that.”
“Feel free to. Just don’t disappear on me.”
“Michael. I knew we’d run into you again,” Gerry said as she
joined them.
“It’s a small world.”
“You remember Ros, right?”
“Sure. How are you?” Michael said, shaking the other woman’s
hand.
He introduced Angie and minutes passed torturously as they
exchanged pleasantries and talked about the weather. Both women offered to help
him out with child care should the need arise, explaining that as single parents
they understood the pressures he was under.
“That’s very kind of you,” Michael said.
It was, too—if only they weren’t both looking at him as though
he was the last chopper out of Saigon. Angie had joked about him being seen as
fair game now that a suitable mourning period had passed, but there was no
mistaking the signals both women were sending.
“We’ve all been there, Michael. Not in exactly the same way,
but we understand how it feels,” Gerry said.
Ros glanced toward their table and pulled a face. “Looks like
they’re ready to order.”
“Michael, great to see you. Don’t be a stranger,” Gerry
said.
“Great to see you, too. All of you,” he said, offering a wave
to the rest of the table. He kept the smile on his face as Gerry and Ros
rejoined their group.
“Wow. For a minute there I thought they were going to fight to
the death over you,” Angie said.
He took a huge swallow from his beer. “It’s not funny.”
“You’re right, it isn’t. But it also kind of is. I felt as
though I was watching a nature special. All we needed was David Attenborough
doing a voice-over.”
He gave her a look. He really didn’t want to talk about this
stuff. “Can we change the subject?”
Angie’s smile faded. “Sorry. I was just mucking around.”
“I know.”
He watched Charlie clamber up the stairs of the miniature
slide. He could feel Angie watching him and he made an effort to unclench his
jaw. He was overreacting and he knew it—he also couldn’t do anything to stop
it.
“It really bothers you, doesn’t it? The idea that those women
are interested in you?”
“It’s not about them.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound convinced.
“It isn’t. I don’t want to be in this position. I don’t want to
be single. I definitely don’t want to even think about replacing Billie. But
none of those things has anything to do with those women.”
Angie’s expression softened with sympathy. “No one will ever
replace Billie. She was one of a kind.”
He stared into his beer, aware that his throat was suddenly
tight.
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t ever want to be with someone
else.” Angie said it so softly he almost didn’t hear her. His head whipped up
and he stared at her.
“I won’t,” he said unequivocally.
“Billie would never expect you to spend the rest of your life
alone. You know that, right?” It seemed Angie was choosing her words very
carefully. “She’d want you to be happy.”
“I’m not interested. Period. Billie was it for me.” The words
caught in his throat.
“Okay. Fair enough. What are you going to do about sex, then?”
Angie’s words were so unexpected she surprised a bark of laughter out of
him.
“Wow. That was…to the point.”
He could feel his face getting warm. Which was fine, because
Angie had a bit of color in her cheeks, too.
“Just pointing out the obvious. You’re thirty-five, Michael.
Young, healthy. Unless you’re planning on developing forearms like Popeye,
you’re going to want to have sex again.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her choice of words but his smile
quickly faded. Across the playground, Charlie turned and sought him out, his
small face anxious as he suddenly remembered that he belonged to someone and
that it was important he knew where that someone was. Michael lifted a hand to
draw his attention. Charlie’s smile was like the sun coming out from behind a
cloud—radiant, life-affirming, utterly pure.
“I’m not interested.”
Angie let the subject drop then, for which he was eternally
grateful. He knew she probably thought he was in denial. Hell, maybe he was. But
he didn’t want to think about sleeping with a woman who wasn’t Billie. That part
of him—his sex-drive, for want of a better term—had been nonexistent for the
past eleven months and if it stayed that way, he wouldn’t be sorry. He’d never
been the kind of guy who slept around, and he’d never had a problem staying true
to his marriage vows. Ever since he’d met Billie, sex and desire had been
uniquely associated with her. Her scent, the feel of her skin, the sound of her
laughter, the shape of her body.
He genuinely couldn’t imagine wanting another woman. Not at the
moment, anyway.
* * *
H
E
DREAMED
ABOUT
SEX
that night.
Angie headed home once they had returned from the bistro and
Michael put the kids to bed then spent a couple more hours on the Watsons’
Frankenstein of a beach house before hitting the sack.
He didn’t know where he was in his dream. It was a house, but
not one he recognized. At first he was alone, but he caught a glimpse of a woman
as she disappeared through the door into the next room. He started after her.
His first thought was that it was Billie. He’d had many, many dreams like this,
where he pursued her yet never quite caught her.
But this dream felt different. The faceless woman turning
corners and slipping out of his sight moved differently from Billie. The way she
walked, the sway of her hips, the angle of her head. She wasn’t Billie. He was
still trying to understand when suddenly he found himself in a dark room. He
reached out and found himself touching bare skin. Warm, smooth skin. A hand
closed over his and guided him to a full, heavy breast. A hard nipple pressed
against his palm, and an arm snaked around his neck and a soft, fragrant body
pressed against him from groin to shoulder.
His lover slid a hand down to caress his burgeoning erection,
cupping him, stroking him. Within seconds he was hard, desire a demanding heat
in his veins. He cupped his lover’s breasts and lowered his head and tongued
sweet, tight nipples until she was sighing and shaking in his arms. She lifted a
leg and wrapped it around his hips and guided him inside her. She was tight and
hot and wet and he buried himself to the hilt. She felt so good, so good. He
withdrew and plunged again and again and again. Desire built inside him, tensing
his muscles. He was so hard he felt he could burst and there was nothing more
important in the world than the place where his body was joined to hers. His
climax rose, spreading like heat through his abdomen. He tensed— And woke,
sweating and panting in tangled sheets, achingly hard, his heart battering
against his ribs. The dream had been so real, so intense, so absorbing that for
a few seconds he was disoriented. All he could think about was how good she’d
felt. How wet and warm and willing and how much he’d needed the relief of
orgasm.
Then his life came back to him and he dropped his forearm
across his closed eyes and gritted his teeth against the shame and regret that
washed over him.
Billie was dead, and in his head he’d been screwing another
woman.
So much for his fine, noble words to Angie. His body and mind
hadn’t even waited a full twenty-four hours before making a liar of him.
It’s not a lie. I don’t want anyone else. I love
Billie.
There was no denying the fact he’d wanted someone else in his
dream. A naked, sexy siren who’d known exactly what to do.
The heaviness in his groin demanded satisfaction. Without him
consciously willing it, his hand slid to his erection. He gripped himself, but
instead of stroking his hand and seeking relief, he lay rigid, willing his
desire away.
He didn’t want this. Didn’t want desire and longing. Didn’t
want to be this fully alive again. It was enough that he was a good provider, a
careful, loving parent. He didn’t want this part of his life back.
Releasing himself, he swung his feet over the side of the bed
and stood. Three steps and he was in the ensuite, another two and he was in the
shower, cold water a shock on his skin. He gasped and let the cold leach the
need from his body. Images from the dream flashed across his mind’s eye. He
pushed his face beneath the water.
He was shivering by the time he flicked the tap off, but his
body was once again his. Feeling guilty and weary and confused, he returned to
bed and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling.
CHAPTER SIX
A
NGIE
MADE
SURE
SHE
WAS
at Michael’s house early the next day, keen to talk to him before tackling her workload.
She needed to apologize for last night, for making him uncomfortable. She’d been lulled by their mutual teasing and the beer and the us-against-them camaraderie engendered by Gerry and Ros’s approach and she’d pushed him in ways she shouldn’t have.
Good God, she’d even made a reference to him “taking care of business” and developing forearms like Popeye. Every time she thought of that particular gem her whole body tensed and grew warm with embarrassment.
She and Michael might have become true friends in the past year instead of merely friends-by-association, but they had never ventured into such personal territory before—yet she’d gone rampaging in there with her army boots on last night, taking no prisoners and giving no quarter. She really didn’t know why she’d stepped over the line so completely.
He’d looked so sad, so broken as he shut the door on romance and love and sex and companionship. In the immediate aftermath of Billie’s death, the thought of Michael living the rest of his life devoted to Billie’s memory might have seemed a fitting and worthy tribute to her friend’s memory. But after witnessing Michael’s pain and grief and, yes, loneliness over the past year, Angie understood what a terrible waste such a sacrifice would be. Billie was dead, after all—she could no longer feel jealousy or betrayal. But Michael was still alive, and he was a loving, generous, good man. He deserved comfort and love and friendship and all the other things a relationship could bring to a person. He deserved to be happy.
Fine, but it’s really none of your business
. At the end of the day, Michael’s grief was his and his alone. If he chose to spend the rest of his days grieving Billie, then it was his choice. Which was why she needed to clear the air and let him know that she wouldn’t be stampeding into his private life again in the near future.
Even though she had a key to his house, she knocked rather than let herself in. It felt strange to simply walk in when she knew Michael and the children were home. Eva answered the door, one side of her hair braided into a wonky plait, the other side tangled and loose. The collar on her school uniform was rucked up and Angie reached out to smooth it flat as they walked to the kitchen.
“That’s better,” she said.
“Can you help me with my hair, Auntie Angie? Daddy usually does it but he’s not up yet.”
Angie glanced toward the hall that led to the master bedroom, surprised. Michael had always been the early bird in the family.
“Sure, sweetie. Why don’t you go grab your brush?”
She ducked her head into Charlie’s room and found him still out of it, his small body sprawled with utter abandon across his cot. She slipped into the kitchen where Eva was waiting impatiently, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“I don’t like being late.” She handed the brush to Angie. “Being late means that you think you’re more important than everyone else.”
Angie smiled as she recognized one of Michael’s favorite sayings. He and Billie had had a constant battle of wills over punctuality. Billie had been a hopeless case, always running fifteen minutes late, while Michael was a stickler for being everywhere on time.
Except for this morning, apparently.
“Why don’t I do this other braid again so they’re all nice and even?” Angie suggested.
Eva nodded her assent and Angie pulled the hair tie free and brushed Eva’s hair out. She was parting it neatly at the back when Michael barreled into the room wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs and a harried expression. His hair was sleep-tousled, his eyes heavy with fatigue. He pulled up short when he saw Angie.
“Oh. Hi. I was just going to get the kids up.”
“I got dressed myself,” Eva said.
“I must have slept through the alarm.”
Angie took one look at his big, bare chest and snug underwear and quickly fixed her gaze on Eva’s hair.
“Charlie’s still sleeping,” she said, concentrating on what her hands were doing and not on the large, very male body she could see in her peripheral vision.
“Ow, Auntie Angie. That hurts,” Eva said, pulling her head away.
“Sorry, sweetie.” Angie slid a glance toward Michael in time to catch the ripple of his muscles as he lifted a hand to push his hair from his forehead. She could feel embarrassed, self-conscious heat rising in her face and she ducked her head so severely that her chin was pressed into her chest.
“I can always drop Eva at school. Save you from rushing,” she said, willing him to do something about his attire—or lack of it.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it covered. You had breakfast, squirt?” he asked Eva.
“Not yet.”
“Toast or cereal?”
“Toast, please. With Vegemite.”
“Angie?”
“Um, no. I’m fine, thanks.” She made the mistake of looking at him again as she spoke. He’d turned to the pantry and her gaze slid down his well-muscled back to his tight, muscular backside.
“Ow. You’re hurting again,” Eva protested.
Angie fastened the last hair tie and dropped a kiss onto her goddaughter’s head. “All done. Sorry for the owies.”
“It’s okay.” Eva used her hands to check on her plaits. “You did a good job.”
“Plaits are one of my areas of expertise.”
Michael moved to the end of the dining table. She heaved a silent sigh of relief when he tugged on a white T-shirt from the laundry folded neatly there. She still had to contend with his long, muscular legs, but at least she could look him in the eye now.
She felt faintly ridiculous. She’d been to the beach with Michael and Billie dozens of times over the years, seen Michael’s bare chest more times than she could count. When she was at art school, she’d seen enough naked men in her life-drawing classes to ensure that the male body—Michael’s in particular—should hold no mysteries for her. Certainly it shouldn’t make her feel oddly skittish, as though she wanted to race for the nearest exit or giggle up her sleeve like a schoolgirl.
And definitely it shouldn’t make her palms a little sweaty and her heartbeat ragged.
It’s a chemical reaction. A stupid, primitive response to seeing a man in his prime. It doesn’t mean anything.
She turned to leave, desperate to get away from Michael’s big, hard body and her unwanted reaction to it.
“I should get stuck into it,” she murmured.
“Daddy, I keep forgetting to ask. What are we going to buy for Mummy’s birthday this year?”
The fridge door closed with a slam. Angie’s breath got caught in her throat, her gaze instinctively gravitating to where Michael stood, one hand on the fridge door, the other hanging loosely by his side, his face pale and tight.
“I think Mummy would like some flowers,” Eva said, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room as she loaded picture books into her school bag.
Time seemed suspended for a long, still moment.
“I’d forgotten Mummy’s birthday was coming up.” Michael said it easily, lightly, as though it wasn’t a big deal at all.
Angie realized she was clenching her hands. She’d forgotten that Billie’s birthday was next week, too. A self-protective mechanism, perhaps, because Billie’s birthday was also the anniversary of her death. A cruel irony.
“We can go visit her, can’t we? And take her a cake?” Eva asked.
“Sure. We can do whatever you’d like to do,” Michael said.
Angie met his gaze. She wondered if she looked as bleak and shaken as he did.
He turned away. “Better get a wriggle on if we’re going to make it to school on time.”
Angie headed for her studio, fighting an upswell of memories and emotions.
If Billie was alive, next Friday would have been her thirty-third birthday. They would have had a party—Billie always celebrated her birthday, no matter what—and Angie would have made her something to add to her collection of Angela Bartlett originals. A bracelet, perhaps, or earrings to match last year’s necklace.
For a moment, longing for her friend was so intense it was an ache in her chest. Then, as always, the grief drained away and she was left feeling merely sad and lonely and empty.
She settled at her desk. It took a while, but her thoughts finally stopped circling. She was using the larger of the ring benders when a tap sounded on the door.
“Come in.”
Michael entered, his hair still mussed, wearing the same T-shirt he’d dragged on earlier with a pair of black jeans.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “You okay?”
“She caught me off guard, that’s all. I knew Billie’s birthday was coming up. I just hadn’t wanted to think about it.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
Michael buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “We talked in the car on the way to school. She wants to go to the cemetery on Friday, visit the grave and leave a present. And she wants to have all of Billie’s favorite things for dinner.”
There was a lump the size of Texas in Angie’s throat. “That sounds nice.”
“She wants you to be there, too. I don’t know if you have any other plans….”
“I don’t. And I’d be honored.”
Michael’s gaze skittered around the studio. He looked so alone standing there, trying to contain his pain.
“I can pick up some things, if you like. Macaroni and cheese, and hot dogs and Wizz Fizz.”
Michael’s expression softened. “God, she loved junk food, didn’t she?”
“The crappier the better.”
“I once saw her eat an entire chocolate cake mix straight from the bowl. She said she liked it better as batter than as cake.”
Angie smiled. “I could never work out where she put it all.”
“Hollow legs,” Michael said.
It was Billie’s favorite explanation, closely followed by “vestigial cheek pouch.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
“Before you go…”
He paused, eyebrows raised.
She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for last night.”
“Last night?”
She couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten. She’d stared at the ceiling half the night regretting her loose lips.
“The stuff about Gerry and her friend and, you know…” She made a gesture in the air. She could feel her cheeks warming so she forced herself to get the rest out in a rush. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t have pushed you and I want you to know it won’t happen again.”
To her surprise, Michael’s gaze slid away from hers, dropping to the floor. He shuffled his feet. “There’s nothing to apologize for. Forget it.”
He headed for the door. She was about to stop him again when she realized that she wasn’t the only one who was embarrassed—his cheekbones were a dull, brick red, signaling more than words ever could that he was deeply uncomfortable about this topic.
She bit her tongue and let him leave, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.
So much for clearing the air.
That’ll teach you to keep your advice and opinions to yourself, smarty pants. Remember this the next time you feel the need to share your point of view with Michael.
Not that she was anticipating that happening anytime soon.
* * *
A
RISING
WIND
RUFFLED
Michael’s hair as he watched his daughter kneel in front of Billie’s headstone. He glanced toward the sky, trying to gauge if they would get soaked or not. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella. There had been too many other things on his mind.
The sky was mottled with dark gray clouds, but none of them looked immediately menacing. With a bit of luck they would be able to pay their respects without getting drenched.
“Hi, Mummy. We made you a cake. Chocolate with sprinkles, the way you like. And we brought you flowers.” Eva laid both offerings on the neatly clipped grass. “I want you to know I’ve been trying to be good. I’ve been trying to remember to keep my room tidy, because I know you like it that way. And I’ve been patient with Charlie because he’s only little and he doesn’t always know when he’s being a pain or ruining things.”
Michael tilted his head back, inhaling deeply through his nose. He heard Angie sniff but didn’t dare look her way because he knew he’d lose it if he did.
There was a reason he’d avoided coming out here before now. Nowhere was Billie more dead than here, where evidence of her passing was engraved in white marble, utterly incontrovertible.
“School has been okay. I don’t like math, and Mrs. Dorrit says that I talk too much but that’s because I have so much to say. I’ve been keeping up my swimming but I didn’t want to do ballet anymore because that was always our special thing and it wasn’t the same without you.”
Michael closed his eyes. He’d thought Eva had simply lost interest in ballet.
“Down. Me down, please,” Charlie said.
Michael glanced over as Angie bent to set Charlie on his feet. He walked straight to the headstone and laid his hands on it.
“Careful of the cake,” Eva warned.
Michael stepped forward to guide Charlie away from potential disaster. Eva closed her eyes and leaned forward to press a kiss to the headstone.
“I love you, Mummy. I think about you every day.” She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes swimming with tears. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his shirt, her small body shuddering with emotion.
Angie took Eva’s place at the graveside. Dropping to her knees, she laid her own tribute on the grass, an intricately woven wreath of fresh flowers. It was too unique to be anything other than her work, and he watched as she bowed her head and closed her eyes. Her hands held each other tightly in her lap and her chest rose and fell sharply as though she was struggling to control tears.
He turned away to give her some privacy, resting his hand on Eva’s head, resisting the insistent tug as Charlie strived to free himself.
After a few minutes he heard the rustle of clothing as Angie pushed herself to her feet. She was wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingertips when he looked at her. Her eyelashes were spiky and she gave him a watery smile.