A House by the Side of the Road (2 page)

Instead, she had to settle for stolen time, completely insufficient and unsatisfying. Seeing him so infrequently, only in secret, was like never being able to adjust to the temperature of deep, cold water. It was always a leap from the dock. Every moment a new leap, a leap without a history, the first leap, again and again.

When she first arrived, she had dated every available man in town, and several who were not supposed to be available at all. She'd enjoyed their pathetic efforts to impress her, to please her, to intrigue her. But no one had succeeded for quite some time. And then she had met him.

Being in this room, his room with his things, was painful. How could he be so cavalier about her? He loved her; she was sure of it. She had seen the look in his eyes when he watched her move across a room to greet him. She had felt his hands on her skin. Yes, he loved her. Yet, for some reason, he was moving away from her emotionally, and she suspected it had to do with the woman who would be visiting him today.

She had heard the husky, purring voice on the answering machine before he had a chance to turn it off. He had responded to her suspicion with a laugh. “Don't be ridiculous,” he'd said, encircling her with one arm. “That's my cousin, Debra. She's coming to stay with me, just for a night. Didn't I tell you?”

Angie had pulled away, fear clutching at her. No, he hadn't mentioned it. She wouldn't have believed him if he had; she surely didn't believe him now. One look at him, at his wary eyes, convinced her it would be wiser to pretend to a faith she suddenly did not feel.

If the woman was his cousin, if their relationship was as innocent as he pretended, she would know soon enough. If not … well, she'd have time to think about what to do.

They would be here soon, if this was where they were coming. Angie was sure this was where they were coming. She didn't want to waste any of the precious two hours of tape, so she would wait to turn on the machine until she daren't delay leaving any longer.

She found the perfect place to put the small recorder. He would never see it. He would certainly never hear it. It was expensively silent even while its spools were turning, to give her the proof she needed, the proof she would soon have, about whether he was who he pretended to be or whether he would have to change.

She had to know, so she could figure out how to change him.

*   *   *

Two days later, listening to what had been recorded, Angie felt sick. She had thought she was prepared, that the depth of her doubt had made her ready for its confirmation. She had been wrong. Twenty minutes into the tape, she slammed the “off” switch savagely and paced her bedroom, kicking discarded clothing out of the way, her eyes furious. She picked up the machine to hurl it against the wall and then stopped, driven to know it all, to put herself through whatever she needed to endure in order to know it all.

She poured a glass of bourbon, fortification against the pain. Within a short time, she was very glad she had been so brave. She had suffered, but she had also discovered how to make sure she'd never suffer again.

Three

Angie didn't notice the clean smell of the April night that came through her open window. She rarely noticed anything so subtle, besides she was busy looking at herself in the bedroom mirror with satisfaction as she ran a brush through her shining hair. Her reflection in her tight jeans was worth the discomfort they caused. She hooked her thumbs in her belt and tipped one hip, her cropped shirt revealing a few inches of smooth midriff and the top of her flat stomach above the large, solid silver buckle of her belt. She looked … what would be the right word? Delicious.

She smiled, narrowing her eyes at her image, and then glanced at the photograph on the dresser. The man in the picture gazed back, caught forever in a moment, a not atypical moment, of self-assurance. Other than the photograph, the dresser top was bare. Most of her personal belongings, and a few that supposedly went with the house, had been packed into cartons and carried away, that afternoon, by the movers. Unfortunately, other than a few old prints that she'd taken for their frames, the house hadn't contained much beyond her own possessions that was worth moving.

When she had first learned that her landlady had inconveniently died and, worse, that the new owner intended to live in the house, Angie had been furious. Later, as she thought about the situation, she realized how well it suited her purposes. Tonight, those purposes were much on her mind. She picked up the photograph and stood holding it. He would never give her what she wanted, what she needed, while he was living in Harrison. He needed a fresh start as much as she did, and the sudden requirement that she move would provide it for both of them. She had been clever enough to take advantage of the situation and plan a move, not of several miles, but of several hundred.

“You,” she said, addressing the picture, “are going to have a very pleasant time tonight.”

She put the photograph away in the dresser. He didn't know she had it; undoubtedly he thought it was still in the drawer where she had discovered it. She'd had no qualms about taking it, but if he knew she had, he would take it back. And then, at least for the present, she wouldn't be able to lie in bed at night with the feeling that he was in the room.

She went into the bathroom, took a small bottle of cologne from her makeup bag, and sprayed the scent into the air, stepping into it. Just a hint of lilies of the valley clinging to her hair, to her clothes. He liked just a hint. She wouldn't miss the bathroom with its immovable window and inadequate shower. She would, however, miss the huge, claw-footed bathtub, which was, as well she knew, big enough for two.

Her bare feet moved silently across the old, dark green rug of the living room and then the worn maple floor of the kitchen as she went to pour a drink into one of the two glasses she'd left in the cupboard. She swirled the bourbon briefly and downed it, needing to steel herself for the first glimpse of him, knowing the effect it would have on her. She had to be calm tonight because tonight she would tell him that he was moving with her, not in the six months or so that he had promised, but soon. Within the next few weeks. Before the end of April.

All through the winter and early spring, she'd enjoyed her secret power and his ignorance of the fact that she had it. It had made her casual, and that had stopped the easing away he had started late last fall. She'd intrigued him again, and she hadn't needed to use her knowledge. But now it was time. Just this morning, he'd denied that he had ever set a specific date to join her in Boston. It would be better, he'd said, for him to stay here for the rest of the spring and the summer. There were people who depended on him, he said, and a lot of work he had to finish. Besides, breaking the news of their involvement would require delicacy, and time.

No, he wasn't staying for the summer, and she would let him know about that tonight. At first, she wouldn't mention it. She would just slide her hand up his arm to grip the muscles of his shoulder, bury her face in his neck, and let her sweet-smelling hair fall over his face. Then, later, she would let him know about their future and what it would be like.

A key turned in the lock of the kitchen door. He had walked over, as usual, so there would be no sign of his presence. She arranged herself on the couch, assuming a languor she did not feel, and picked up a book so when he walked in she could let it drop and stretch like a cat—a beautiful, soft, purring cat.

When she stretched again, an hour later, it was without planning it. She snuggled closer to the man next to her and draped one arm across his chest, admiring the gold of her skin. The man lifted her arm and got out of bed, sliding into his jeans.

“Where are you going?” she asked sleepily, patting the sheet next to her. “Come back.”

“I'd like to,” he said, smiling down at her. “Can't. I gotta get home.”

She sat up and leaned over the side of the bed to reach her clothes on the floor. “You promised you'd stay,” she said, as calmly as she could. She concentrated on keeping her voice neutral. He hated anything that sounded like a whine. “After I move, it may be weeks until you've finished what you have to do and can join me.”

“Look, Angie…” He hesitated. The pretense had gone on too long, but he had dreaded the scene she would make. Still, it wouldn't be a public scene. One here in this lonely house, no one would hear her scream at him, accuse him. And much as she might want to upset him by talking about their affair all over town, she wouldn't, because she would never admit to being dumped.

He sat down on the side of the bed and looked sadly at her. “I told you. I have to stay for the summer. We'll see how soon in the fall I can come.”

She'd give him one chance. “You can't stay, darling. You can't. I love you too much. I can't spend five or six months without you. I need you. You can't leave me.”

He made his voice light. “Actually, Angie, you're leaving
me.
”

The dismissiveness in his tone frightened her. How could he fail to see what was so obvious? They were perfect for each other. He used to know that. He would see it again as time passed.

“You know perfectly well I'm not leaving you,” she said softly. “I'm moving. I'm moving to allow the person who inherited this piece of trash to live in it, which she seems in one damn hurry to do. You know I'd never leave you.” She put a hand against the side of his face. “Don't say we won't be having a life together, because it's just not true.”

“I'm afraid it is,” he said, relieved to have the delayed conversation underway. If she wouldn't let him spare her, that was her choice. “Look, I'm sorry it didn't work out. But, if you must know, I'm tired of this whole thing. I can't stand being clutched at. It's time to go our own ways.”

Angie stared at him. Her chest felt hollow. “Are you crazy? You will
never
find anyone who is as right for you as I am!”

He laughed. “Oh, Angie, Angie. Look at us! We don't exactly go together, do we? It was fun but it's over. It's just over, all right?”

She stood up and slapped him across the face. “No,” she said, breathing hard and looking down at him. “It's not all right. And it's not happening, either. This is what you planned all along, isn't it?” Her voice, never her best quality, was harsh. “That's why you thought Boston was such a good idea. Well, I'm warning you, it's not happening. Do you hear me?”

He looked at her stonily, the left side of his face showing the mark of her hand. “I hear you,” he said. “I'm just ignoring you.”

She took in a breath that hissed between her teeth. He was her world; he knew it. He had to know it. If she lost him … But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

“That's not smart,” she said. “I know what you did.”

His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, what I did?”

She just nodded and regarded him, then started pulling on her clothes. She smiled. “I know. I know. I know all about you and your ‘cousin.' If she's your cousin, darling, you all must come from someplace where the branches on the family tree get a bit tangled.”

He reached out one hand and gripped her by the belt, his knuckles biting into her smooth skin. He pulled her toward him and down until she was on her knees between his. He leaned closer, looking directly into her eyes. His voice was soft. “So she's not my cousin. So she and I enjoyed each other. So what? Who cares, besides you?”

He let go of her and put his hand against her chest, pushing her away. She laughed, keeping herself from falling backward by bracing herself with her arms.

“No,” she said, “the fact that you're a cheat may not be all that big a secret. Maybe nobody except me would much care about that. But the other things you and she did together, now
that
would be more interesting.”

He stared at her, disbelieving and horrified, and she giggled. “I need a drink,” she said, getting up and striding toward the kitchen. She felt her hair swinging behind her, her heels against the floor. She felt strong and alive. “Want one?”

When he came into the room, she was standing with her back to the kitchen window, sipping from a tumbler. He poured bourbon into the other glass on the countertop and took a long swallow.

“You're crazy,” he said, shrugging with assumed dispassion. “I don't really care what you think or what you say. I've got a good reputation in this town. What've you got? Six months' worth of speeding tickets. So, go on, talk. Talk to anybody.”

He spoke quietly. His eyes, watching her, were cool. But he saw everything he had worked for crumbling.
How much did she know?

“Oh, I will. If you make me,” she replied. “I don't want you to make me. I want us to go on happily together. Forever.” She hitched herself up onto the edge of the counter and crossed her feet, took another sip from her glass. “You and she have been involved in something interesting. Everyone in town will find it fascinating; I know I did.”

She put one heel up on the countertop and hooked her arm around her leg. She reached out her other foot, pointed her toes, and rubbed them against his thigh.

He realized with horror that she was flirting with him. “I don't know what you think you know,” he said coldly, moving beyond her reach. “But if you're planning to spread something you hope will damage my reputation, no one will believe you.” He lifted the bottle by its neck and tipped it to pour more bourbon into his glass.

She looked surprised. “Did you think I was just planning to
gossip?
Oh, no, darling! I've got proof! Right here.”

It frightened him, and fear made him angry. “There
is
no proof, you dumb bitch,” he said.

She threw her glass. The movement was so unexpected that the tumbler struck him directly in the chest before hitting the floor and rolling away. It was a heavy glass, and Angie was a strong young woman. The intensity of the pain shocked him. He took two steps forward and swung his right arm. She started to raise her hand, to turn away, to scream, but the bottle he was still holding caught her on the side of her head. She crumpled onto the countertop and lay motionless, then started a slow slide to the floor.