第 12 页

Adrienne gave a shy smile. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, a voice from long ago.

They continued to stare at each other until Adrienne fi-nally lifted the bottle slightly. “Would you like some wine?” she asked. “I know you have Coffee, but with the storm, I thought it might be nice.”

Paul cleared his throat. “That sounds great. Would you like me to open the bottle?”

“Unless you like bits of cork in your wine, you’d better. I never did get the hang of those things.”

When Paul rose from his chair, she handed the corkscrew to him. He opened the bottle with a series of quick movements, and Adrienne held both glasses as he poured. He set the bottle on the table and took his glass as they sat in the rockers. She noticed they were closer to-gether than they had been the day before.

Adrienne took a sip of wine, then lowered the glass, pleased with everything: the way she looked and felt, the taste of the wine, the room itself. The flickering fire made shadows dance around them. Rain was sheeting itself against the walls.

“This is lovely,” she said. “I’m glad you made a fire.”

In the warming air, Paul caught a trace of the perfume she was wearing, and he shifted in his chair. “I was still cold after being outside,” he said. “It seems to take a little longer every year for me to warm up.”

“Even with all that exercise? And here I thought you were holding back the ravages of time.”

He laughed softly. “I wish.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“You don’t see me in the mornings.”

“But don’t you run then?”

“Before that, I mean. When I first get out of bed, I can barely move. I hobble like an old man. All that running has taken its toll over the years.”

As they moved their rockers back and forth, he could see the reflection of the fire flickering in her eyes.

“Have you heard from your kids today?” he asked, trying not to stare at Adrienne too obviously.

She nodded. “They called this morning while you were out. They’re getting ready for their ski trip, but wanted to touch base before they go. They’re heading to Snowshoe, West Virginia, this weekend. They’ve been looking forward to that for a couple of months now.”

“Sounds like they’ll have fun.”

“Yeah, Jack’s good for that. Whenever they go to visit, he always has fun things planned, as if life with him would be nothing but one big party.” She paused. “But that’s okay. He’s missing out on a lot of things, too, and I wouldn’t trade places with him. You can’t get these years back.”

“I know,” he murmured, “Believe me, I know.”

She winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Even though you weren’t talking about me, I know I’ve missed more than I can hope to recover. But at least I’m trying to do something about it now. I just hope it works out.”

“It will.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I think you’re the kind of person who ac-complishes just about everything you set out to do.”

“It’s not that easy this time.”

“Why not?”

“Mark and I aren’t on very good terms these days. Actu-ally, we’re not on any terms. We haven’t said more than a few words to each other in years.”

She looked at him, not sure what to say. “I didn’t realize it was that long,” she finally offered.

“How would you? It’s not something I’m proud to admit.”

“What are you going to say to him? At first, I mean?”

“I have no idea.” He looked at her. “Any suggestions? You seem to have a pretty good handle on the parent thing.”

“Not really. I guess I’d have to know what the problem is first.”

“It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got all day if you want to talk about it.”

Paul took a drink, as if summoning his resolve. Then, over the next half hour, and to the accompaniment of the escalating wind and rain outside, he told her how he hadn’t been around when Mark was growing up, about the argu-ment in the restaurant, his inability to find the will to re-pair the rift between them. By the time he was finished, the fire was burning lower. Adrienne was quiet for a moment.

“That’s a tough one,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“But this isn’t all your fault, you know. It takes two peo-ple to keep a feud going.”

“That’s pretty philosophical.”

“It’s still true, though.”

“What should I do?”

“I guess I’d say not to push too hard. I think you proba-bly need to get to know each other before you start work-ing on the problems between you two.”

He smiled, thinking about her words. “You know, I hope your kids realize how smart their mother is.”

“They don’t. But I’m still hopeful.”

He laughed, thinking her skin looked radiant in the gen-tle light. A log sparked, sending trails up the chimney. Paul added more wine to both their glasses.

“How long are you planning to stay in Ecuador?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet. I guess that’s up to Mark and how long he wants me there.” He swirled his wine before looking at her. “But I’d say I’ll be there at least a year. That’s what I told the director, anyway.”

“And then you’ll come back?”

He shrugged. “Who knows. I suppose I could go any-where. It’s not like I have anything to return to in Raleigh. To be honest, I haven’t thought about what I’ll do when I get back. Maybe I’ll take up watching bed-and-breakfasts when the owners are out of town.”

She laughed. “I think you’d get pretty bored with that.”

“But I’d be good if a storm was coming.”

“True, but you’d have to learn to cook.”

“Good point.” Paul glanced toward her, his face half in shadow. “Then maybe I’ll just move to Rocky Mount and figure it out from there.”

At his words, Adrienne felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She shook her head and turned away.

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“Things you don’t mean.”

“What makes you think I don’t mean it?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, nor would she answer, and in the stillness of the room, he could see her chest rising and falling with her breaths. He could see a shadow of fear cross her face but didn’t know if it was because she wanted him to come and was afraid he wouldn’t, or didn’t want him to come and was afraid he would. He reached over, resting his hand on her arm. When he spoke again his voice was soft, as if trying to comfort a small child.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” he said, “but this weekend . . . it’s like something I didn’t know existed. I mean, it’s been a dream. You’ve been a dream.”

The warmth of his hand seemed to penetrate into her bones.

“I’ve had a wonderful time, too,” she said.

“But you don’t feel the same way.”

She looked at him. “Paul . . . I . .”

“No, you don’t have to say anything—”

She didn’t let him finish. “Yes, I do. You want an answer, and I’d like to give you one, okay?” She paused, composing her thoughts. “When Jack and I split up, it was more than just the ending of a marriage. It ended everything I’d hoped for in the future. And it ended who I was, too. I thought I wanted to move on, and I tried, but the world didn’t seem all that interested in who I was anymore. Men in general weren’t interested in me, and I guess I retreated into a shell. This weekend made me realize that about myself, and I’m still coming to terms with that.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I’m not saying this because the answer is no. I would like to see you again. You’re charming and intelligent, and the past two days have meant more to me than you proba-bly realize. But moving to Rocky Mount? A year is a long time, and there’s no telling who either of us will be then. Look how much you’ve changed in the last six months. Can you honestly tell me that you’ll feel the same way about all this a year from now?”

“Yes,” he said, “I can.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Outside, the wind was a steady gale, howling as it blasted against the house. The rain was hammering against the walls and roof; the old inn creaked under the incessant pressure.

Paul set aside his glass of wine. Staring at Adrienne, he knew he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Because,” he said, “you’re the only reason I’d bother to come back at all.”

“Paul . . . don’t.”

She closed her eyes, and for a moment, Paul believed he was losing her. The realization scared him more than he’d imagined possible, and he felt the last of his resistance give way. He looked up at the ceiling, then down to the floor, then focused on Adrienne again. Leaving his chair, he moved to her side. With a finger, he turned her face toward him, knowing that he was in love with her, with everything about her.

“Adrienne “ he whispered, and when Adrienne fi-nally met his gaze, she recognized the emotion in his eyes.

He couldn’t say the words, but in a rush of intuitive feel-ing, she imagined she could hear them, and that was enough.

Because it was then, as he held her in his unwavering gaze, that she knew she was in love with him as well.

For a long moment, neither one of them seemed to know what to do, until Paul reached for her hand. With a sigh, Adrienne let him take it, leaning back in her chair as his thumb began to trace her skin.

He smiled, waiting for a response, but Adrienne seemed content to remain quiet. He couldn’t read her expression, yet it seemed to hint at everything he was feeling: hope and fear, confusion and acceptance, passion and reserve. But thinking she might need space, he let go of her hand and stood.

“Let me put another log on the fire,” he said. “It’s getting low.”

She nodded, watching him through half-closed eyes as he squatted before the fire, the jeans stretching tight around his thighs.

This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. She was forty-five years old, for goodness’ sake, not a teenager. She was mature enough to know that something like this couldn’t be real. This was the product of the storm, the wine, the fact that they were alone. It was any combination of a thousand things, she told herself, but it wasn’t love.

And yet, as she watched Paul add another log and stare quietly into the fireplace, she knew with certainty that it was. The unmistakable look in his eyes, the tremor in his voice as he’d whispered her name . . . she knew his feelings were real. And so, she thought, were hers.

But what did that mean? For him or her? Knowing that he loved her, as wonderful as it was, wasn’t the only thing going on here. His look had spoken of desire as well, and that had frightened her, even more than knowing he loved her. Making love, she’d always believed, was more than simply a pleasurable act between two people. It encom-passed all that a couple was supposed to share: trust and commitment, hopes and dreams, a promise to make it through whatever the future might bring. She’d never un-derstood one-night stands or people who drifted from one bed to the next every couple of months. It relegated the act to something almost meaningless, no more special than a good-night kiss on the front steps.

Even though they loved each other, she knew every-thing would change if she allowed herself to give in to her feelings. She would cross a boundary she’d erected in her mind, and there was no coming back from something like that. Making love to Paul would mean that they would share a bond for the rest of their lives, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.

Nor was she sure she would know what to do. Jack was not only the only man she’d ever been with; for eighteen years, he was the only man she’d wanted to be with. The possibility of sharing herself with another left her feeling anxious. Making love was a gentle dance of give-and-take, and the thought she might disappoint him was almost enough to keep her from letting this go any further.

But she couldn’t stop herself. Not anymore. Not with the way he’d looked at her, not with the way she felt about him.

Her throat was dry and her legs felt shaky as she stood from her chair. Paul was still crouching in front of the fire. Moving close, she rested her hands in the soft area between his neck and shoulders. His muscles tightened for an in-stant, but as she heard him exhale, they relaxed. He turned, looking up at her, and it was then that she felt her-self finally give in.

It all felt right to her, he felt right, and as she stood be-hind him, she knew she would allow herself to go to the place she was meant to be.

Lightning cut the sky outside. Wind and rain were joined as one, pounding against the walls. The room grew hotter as the flames began to leap up again.

Paul stood and faced her. His expression was tender as he reached for her hand. She expected him to kiss her, but he didn’t, Instead, he raised her hand and held it against his cheek, closing his eyes, as if wanting to remember her touch against him forever.

Paul kissed the back of her hand before releasing it. Then, opening his eyes and tilting his head, he drew closer until she felt his lips brush against the side of her face in a series of butterfly-light kisses before finally meeting her lips.

She leaned into him then as he wrapped his arms around her; she could feel her breasts pressed against his chest; she could feel the slight stubble on his face when he kissed her the second time.

He ran his hands over her back, her arms, and she parted her lips, feeling the moisture of his tongue. He kissed her neck, her cheek, and as his hand moved around to her belly, his touch was electric. When he moved his hand to her breasts, her breath caught in her throat, and they kissed again and again, the world around them dissolving into something distant and unreal.

It was over now, for both of them, and as they moved even closer, it was as if they were not only embracing each other, but holding all the painful memories at bay.

He buried his hands in her hair, and she leaned her head against his chest, hearing his heart beating as quickly as hers.

Then, when they were finally able to separate, she found herself reaching for his hand.

She took a small step backward and with a gentle pull began leading him to his bedroom upstairs.

Thirteen

In the kitchen, Amanda stared at her mother.

She hadn’t spoken since Adrienne had started her story and had gone through two glasses of wine, the second a bit faster than the first. Neither of them was speaking now, and Adrienne could feel the anxious expectation of her daughter as she waited for what would come next.

But Adrienne couldn’t tell Amanda about that, nor did she need to. Amanda was a grown woman; she knew what it meant to make love to a man. She was also old enough to know that even though that was a wonderful part of their discovery of each other, it had been just that: a part of it. She loved Paul, and had he not meant so much to her, had the weekend been only physical in nature, there would have been nothing to remember other than a few pleasur-able moments, special only because she had been alone so long. What they shared, however, were feelings that had

been buried for far too long, feelings that were meant for just the two of them. And only them.