53 Letters For My Lover (12 page)

“Really? Is that what was on your mind? Paying the rent?” He quirked an eyebrow in amused skepticism. “Are you telling me you didn’t have any fun tonight?”

“You know what would have been fun, Troy?” I glared at him. “Fun would have been if you had actually brought me here instead of tricking me. Fun would have been hanging out on that deck, pretending I was just like everyone else for one evening. Fun would have been anything except this!” I gestured to my wet, wilted form.

The grand vestibule echoed with the sound of my shuddering breath.

“That’s it. That’s it, Shayda. Lash out at me. Heck, lash out at the whole world,” he said. “I’ll take the anger, the rage, any day over that awful, broken look you had on before.”

Anger? Rage? The realization blindsided me. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so furious, so openly unrestrained with my emotions.

“And you’re wrong, you know,” he said. “You look exactly like you belong.”

A drop of water pooled at the end of his hair, hanging on precariously like a crystal bubble.

“You know your eyes turn almost black when you’re excited?” He was so close that I didn’t notice the little droplet going splat on my hand. “And your hair.” He played with a strand. “Like Medusa. It gives you away, the part you hide so well.” He traced my collarbone, letting his fingers play in the soft spot between.

I felt like soldered metal, glued to the spot by blazing blue irises. I wanted to jump back—from the touch, yes, but mostly the way he was looking at me.

“Roses.” He closed his eyes and inhaled. “It’s the damnedest thing. I smell roses. Every time I’m around you.”

I stood there, not moving, not breathing, not wanting the moment to end. It was some kind of cruel spell.

“Shayda?” Jayne called from the door.

I jerked away from him before she entered.

“I thought you might need this.” She held up my bag. “You have a change of clothes in here?”

“Um...no.” I gripped the railing, trying to steady myself.

“You can borrow something of my mother’s,” said Troy. “They’re not back until tomorrow. She won’t mind.”

“No thanks,” I replied. “I’ll just put my clothes in the dryer.”

“No need. I’ll have your dress dry-cleaned and—,” He caught the expression on my face. “Right. Laundry’s over there.”

“What about you, Troy?” asked Jayne. “Want me take those wet clothes off you...I mean...em...
for
you?” She smiled, far from embarrassed about the slip.

“What’s going on in here?” Carol followed, hot on Jayne’s heels. “Can I get you some dry clothes, honey?”

Honey. Jayne rolled her eyes.

Dry clothes. Obviously she knew her way around.

“I’m fine.” Troy ran his fingers through his hair. “Why don’t the two of you just chill. We’ll be out in a bit.”

“Okay, darling.” Carol dropped another endearment before she left.

‘Okay, darling’, Jayne mimed behind her.

“Jayne?” He arched an eyebrow.

“I’m going, I’m going.”

“Wait.” I called her back. “Maybe you should call Elizabeth and let her know you’re going to be late. It’s almost midnight.”

“Sure.” She shrugged and headed for the living room.

“Always the responsible one, huh?” he said.

“Always the troublemaker, huh?”

“Not my fault if girls fight over me.”

“If you’re done singing your own praises, I’d like to freshen up.”

“Of course.” He bowed mockingly, but I knew it was an attempt to lighten the tension still lingering between us.

I stomped up the stairs after him, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the mahogany, each wishing it were headed the other way—out the door and away from him.

PAST

July 2nd, 1983

I looked in the
mirror expecting to see The Swamp Thing. It was me, only raw and wild, a reflection I wasn’t familiar with. Instead of gracefully tamed layers, my hair had morphed into a riot of mad curls. My eyes had an odd sheen and my face was throbbing with color.

I sucked in my cheeks and examined my face.

Nope, I will never have high, chiseled Troy Heathgatesque cheekbones.

Stepping back, I cringed. My dress was clinging to every curve. I looked like a powerful opera had picked me up, dragged me through every aria between elation and agitation and dropped me, exhausted but oddly sated.

I stepped into the oversized shower and fiddled with the controls, shrieking as jets of icy cold water attacked me from all sides. There was a handheld shower, a ceiling mounted shower and several nozzles coming at me from the side panels. I tried again, paying more attention. Steam shower, rain shower, oscillating spray...I cycled through the options until I found a nice, comfortable setting.

I shimmied out of my dress and underwear, sighing as the water washed away the clamminess of the lake. The soap from the dispenser smelled like white gardenias. I felt a twinge of regret for using it to wash my clothes. The shampoo lathered into a rich, fragrant treat and the conditioner left my hair soft and silky.

Take that, Medusa, I thought, adding a second round in case she dared to rear her unruly head again.

I hesitated a second before slipping into a fluffy, white bathrobe and matching slippers. Skipping over the elegant selection of toiletries, I reached for the hair dryer. The faster I got out of here, the better.

Feeling more like myself with my hair hanging in graceful curves around my shoulders, I tip-toed down the stairs and put my clothes in the dryer. As I crossed the foyer, I caught sight of Troy in the kitchen.

He was chugging down a carton of orange juice, head thrown back, wearing nothing but a towel and the rosary around his neck. I squirmed, feeling like a voyeur, watching something primal and very, very intimate. I watched his adam’s apple spasm as he drank greedily, not stopping to breath. His skin glistened, still wet from the shower, as beads of water ran down the flat planes of his abs and disappeared into the V barely covered by his towel. He drained the box, sated, and sighed with a satisfaction that sent a jolt of excitement through me.

“Why didn’t you call?” Carol came into view.

He wasn’t alone.

“I was at Ryan’s.”

“The nights too?” She pouted.

He turned to face her. “I didn’t know we were still doing this.”

“You’re the reason I came home this summer. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” Her voice dropped. “You were my first.”

“And you regret that?”

“God, no.” She ran her fingers over his chest. “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off.” Her hands paused at the top of his towel.

“Carol.” He lifted her chin so she was looking straight at him. “I’m incredibly lucky to have spent that time with you.”

“But...?”

“But nothing. I thought we were clear about what it was.”

“So I’m not your type?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

Carol walked to the other side of the island in the kitchen. All I saw now were her hands, clasped tightly on the counter.

“Life is just a bowl full of cherries for you, isn’t it?” she said. “And you intend to taste every single one of them.”

“Why not?” replied Troy, his muscles taut with restless energy. “You should too. You’re young. Intelligent. Beautiful. There’s so much of life waiting for the both of us.” He leaned back against the fridge and regarded her.

“You really believe that.” It was a half laugh, half sob.

“Carol—”

“Don’t.”

She was almost at the front door when he grabbed her.

“That’s not how you say goodbye to a lover,” he said.

And then he kissed her, like she was the most special thing in the world. She melted and clung to him. Who wouldn’t? A kiss like that filled you up and left you with more than you had.

“Oh Troy.” Carol cupped his face. Then she shook her head and let herself out.

He stared at the door after she’d gone.

“Was that Carol I just saw leaving?” Jayne burst in through the back.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Finally!” She marched into the kitchen and pulled out a stool. “With Ryan and Ellen kissy-facing on the deck and you and Carol cozying up in here, I’m bored. And hungry.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Troy. “I’m clueless in the kitchen.”

“Fine.” Jayne sauntered over to the fridge. “I’ll just help myself.”

It wasn’t until she leaned over that I noticed she had undone the top two buttons of her blouse. She stuck her bum out before getting some pitas and cheese.

“Would you like something, Troy?”

He didn’t miss the dramatic batting of teen eyelashes as she sidled past him, brushing against his bare, firm stomach.

His eyes followed her. “Come to think of it, I
am
kind of hungry,” he growled.

He took the food from her and set it on the counter. “But maybe something we’ll both enjoy?”

Jayne gulped as he moved towards her. She looked like she was about to swoon, but he shifted her aside and opened a drawer.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Patience,” he said, as he walked over to the ice dispenser, letting cubes of ice collect into a bowl. “Now...” He took a small piece from the bowl and held it over her lips.

Seriously?

I rushed out of the laundry, but before I got to the kitchen, he let the cube slide down her neck.

“You need to cool off, squirt,” he whispered, before dumping the whole bowl down her blouse.

“Ohhh!” Jayne squealed and hopped wildly around the kitchen. Ice cubes scattered all over the floor.

“Why you...!” She swung a jug his way, drenching him with cherry colored fruit punch.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged after the initial shock. He picked up a rapidly melting ice cube and threw it at her. She ducked. The two of them went slipping and sliding on the wet floor.

“Guys. GUYS!” I stepped in. “Stop it!”

“He started it!” Jayne pointed to her soggy blouse.

“She asked for it.”

“What a mess.” I surveyed the kitchen. “Jayne, mop. Troy, for heaven’s sake, go put on some clothes. I’m going to get dressed and fix us something to eat so you can drive us back.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned.

I turned away from the outline of steely thighs under his wet towel. Raspberry tinged water ran down his chest. He followed me into the laundry and watched while I got my clothes out of the dryer.

“Throw this in the hamper for me, will you?”

I turned around and caught the wet towel just in time.

“The robe looks good,” he remarked. “Very sexy.”

My jaw dropped as I followed the muscled contours of his back up the stairs, sleek and summer-bronzed, except for the pale patch of bare ass.

“Mmmmm. So good
.”

“It’s just pita pizza,” I replied.

Yes, just pita pizza, so why was I reacting to his rumbling approval as if we were lying on a pillow together? I fell back and started walking with Jayne.

The streets were empty but littered from the evening’s festivities.

“You want some of mine?” Ryan offered his slice to Ellen.

“No, you have it.”

“No, you.”

Jayne rolled her eyes. “I’ll take it.”

Her brother glowered at her before wolfing down the whole piece. Then he rolled his napkin up and threw it at her.

“Poor Jayne.” I laughed. “Not a good day, huh?”

“Oh, I had fun!” She grinned. “Thanks for coming along. Mum would never have let me go without you.”

“You only came because of her?” asked Troy.

“Helloooo? You think she came for you?” said Jayne.

“I know at least
one
person who did.” He shot her a cheeky look.

Jayne launched at him.

“Easy, squirt.” He let her throw a few punches before hooking an arm around her. “Friends?”

“Friends.” She laughed.

We found Troy’s car under a flickering street light outside the gas station, exactly where we’d left it.

“Hop in. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” asked Ryan.

“I left the keys with Greta,” he replied before stepping inside the store.

The air was hot and stifling in the car so we rolled the windows down and waited outside. Ryan and Ellen leaned against the hood, gazing up at the stars.

“What’s taking him so long?” Jayne walked up to the door and peered in.

“Hey.” She waved me over a few moments later. “Come look at this.”

We pressed our faces against the glass.

At first I saw nothing but an empty store. Then two heads appeared behind the shelving. Talking? No. Moving. Gliding down row after row.

“Are they...are they dancing?” I asked as Troy maneuvered Greta through lines of haphazardly stacked toilet paper and air fresheners, up through the magazine section and back to the cash register.

Jayne giggled. “Come on.” She pulled me in after her.

A male voice was singing to a carefree, flirty beat through the speakers.

"What’s this song that’s playing?" I asked.

“It’s Tom Jones,” Jayne replied. “Just Help Yourself.”

We went unnoticed as Troy swept past us, smiling at the woman in his arms. It didn’t matter that her green eye shadow had creased into the papery folds of her lids, or that her hair had de-pouffed under the weight of harsh fluorescent lights. In that magical moment, she was the belle of the ball, swept away from the ordinary. The dusty layers of time sloughed off and I saw her as she would have been, at her prom, or her wedding perhaps. She sparkled under the spotlight he shone on her, the moment he decided to steal a dance, while his friends waited outside.