Death by the Riverside (26 page)

“And I forgive you. But the words aren’t enough, are they?” She paused, staring into the flickering amber flames. “They don’t…touch deeply enough. I want to sleep with you. There, I’ve said it. You must wonder at my inconsistency.”

“I’ve never won any constancy prizes,” I answered, knowing she was right, words weren’t enough.

“Will you make love to me? Or is that presumptuous to ask?”

“One question,” I said, knowing that I would say yes, no matter what her answer was, and not liking myself for it.

She looked at me expectantly.

“Are you still going to marry him?” I asked.

“Yes,” she answered softly.

“What am I? One final fuck before the wedding?” I said harshly, angry at us both.

“Perhaps,” she replied, not flinching, just looking at me.

“Two beds or the floor in front of the fireplace. Take your choice.” I stood up and took off both my sweatshirt and T-shirt in one motion, then dropped them on the floor.

She remained motionless. I started to unzip my pants.

“Don’t,” she said. “Not like this. Don’t compound my usury.”

I stopped, standing still, feeling the chill on my bare breasts.

“Then what?” I demanded, not willing to acknowledge my vulnerability.

“I…” she started, then stopped.

She took a deep breath, then reached over and handed me my shirts from the floor.

“King Lear committed suicide,” she said, breaking the silence of the fire. “Maybe not directly. But…the T-shirt I gave you that night you stayed with me.”

I nodded and put my sweatshirt back on.

“We lived together for over two years. I came home one evening, fairly late. I was in medical school then. I called and there was no answer. I figured Kath was working late as usual. At midnight the phone rang. A resident from the ER; someone I knew; called. The hospital had contacted her family hours ago, but…” Cordelia stopped and let out a long ragged breath.

I reached out and took her hand, holding it with both of mine.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She nodded and held my hand.

“There wasn’t much left of the car. They said she lost control. But I don’t think she did. Kath never lost anything. She let go of it. I don’t guess she wanted to go anywhere that car was going to take her. She had such black moods at times. But they always seemed to be gone by the next day. I guess I was young enough then to think I could save her. That somehow, if I loved her with everything I had, it would be enough.

“Things weren’t going very well. She was a set designer, in theater, and had gotten into an argument with a director and been told to start her design from scratch again. And Kath’s parents found out about us and they were threatening to have her committed. I was off, too busy learning how to save people to bother with her.”

“You can’t blame…” I interrupted.

“I know, I know. But I can’t help it. We had a fight the day before. She left a note in the morning, which she sometimes did, but it wasn’t usual. It said, ‘Sorry, Cordelia. Nothing you did. I love you.’ Maybe that made it hurt all the more. Knowing that I loved her and she loved me and that still…love isn’t a solution. I had always thought it was.”

“Something should be. But I haven’t found it yet.”

“Her family swooped in. Like vultures. Took everything we had except the wrecked car and flew her back to Kansas for burial.”

“Shit. Bastards,” I interjected.

“Now I look at people and wonder when they’re going to die on me. I don’t want it to happen again. So I made my choice. Thoreau’s decent and kind. We’re friends and there are no major surprises hidden in him.”

“Damned with faint praise,” I remarked.

“He allows me to live the kind of life I want. No Roman candles during sex, but it’s adequate. I like him. And he’ll never rip my heart out. He’s safe.”

“What does this have to do with tonight?” I asked.

“I…” she started, then looked at the fire before looking back at me. “I like you, Micky. A lot. And that scares the hell out of me.”

“Why? What could I do to you?” I asked.

“You could die. Next time the bullet could be in your head. Or the knife wound a little deeper and closer to a major artery. I’m not getting involved with that. I don’t want to be the one they call at four in the morning to come down to the morgue and identify you. You live too close to the edge for me.”

“Let my Aunt Greta do it. She loves hospitals, but a trip to the morgue would be the high point of her life.”

“It’s not funny,” she cut in. “You laugh to keep your distance. Then there is, as you noted, your lack of prizes for constancy. What is the longest you’ve stayed in anyone’s bed but your own?”

“I see you’ve been exposed to the Danielle Clayton version of my love life.”

“Prove her wrong,” she challenged.

I couldn’t. “I’ve made some mistakes…” I fumbled.

“That’s not what I’m saying. You have a right to live your life. We’re just not right for each other.”

I couldn’t prove that wrong either. We sat for a moment watching the fire.

“Where does that leave us?” I asked.

“You can say no. It’s not much of an offer,” she said.

“The best one I’ve had today,” I answered.

“I’m sorry. I can’t offer anything more. Not now,” she replied. “I’ve…made my choice.”

I tightened my grasp on her hand. With my other hand I gently touched her cheek.

“And I’ve made mine,” I answered.

I kissed her. We rolled off the couch onto the floor in front of the fireplace. I spread out the sleeping bag. Then Cordelia was on top of me, kissing and exploring my body. I felt the warmth of the fire on my bare skin as she took my sweatshirt off. Then the heat of her hands along my shoulders, down my back, covering my breasts. Her large hands spanned easily from nipple to nipple.

She took off her shirt, then lowered herself back onto me, a sheen of sweat starting to form where our skin touched. I kissed her cheek, running my tongue across her jawline, then down her neck, her collarbone, searching. She lifted herself up, letting my tongue find her breast.

She slid down me and took off my pants. Kneeling between my spread legs, she slowly unzipped her pants, stripping for me as I watched her. I sat up and pulled off her underpants, letting my fingers brush against her hair. Once she was naked, I put my arms around her, holding her tightly, burying my face between her breasts. I started to pull her over and get on top, but she wouldn’t let me, instead pushing me back down. I felt her fingers enter me and she was on top of me, encircling me with one arm, the other one deftly exploring inside me. I was very wet, almost embarrassingly so.

We made love quickly, in a fever, caught between the warmth of the fire and the heat of our bodies. Her fingers brought me to a climax, a long shudder that spread through my whole body. It left me gasping and unable to focus for a moment. She held me, held me tightly, until the fire inside me subsided. Then she rolled off me, letting some of the night air between us, cooling us down. But I didn’t want the cold. I climbed on top of her, kissing her until I had to stop and take a breath. Her gasp sent a shiver down my spine.

We sometimes forget the power of sex, or rather we avoid acknowledging it. But her gasp and tremble as I put my hand over the mound between her legs reminded me. At the most basic level, the power to give pleasure, heady sensual rapture. The reassurance of a physical touch. Until now, all I had ever looked for in sex was distraction and the fleeting thrill of the physical. That seemed hollow now, the machinations of a body with no soul. Someone, Cordelia, had gotten beyond the merely physical. I had finally let her in. In return I wanted to give her all that I was capable of, to, somehow, touch her as deeply as she had touched me.

I paused for a brief moment, my head resting on her breasts, her arms about my shoulders. She was letting me touch her, if only for comfort and forgiveness, not the passion and joy that moved me. But she was letting me touch her.

Then I went down on her, tracing a line from her breasts to the V of her legs with my tongue. She spread herself very wide, letting me in. I kissed her, gently at first, then harder as she moved under me. I felt her hands in my hair, holding me where she wanted me while she came. I stayed between her legs, gently kissing her until she gave a slight tug on my hair, pulling me up to lie next to her. I held her tightly, still not wanting to let the cool night air in. We didn’t say anything, just lay together in the warmth of the fire, watching it die down to glowing embers.

“It’s getting chilly in here,” I finally said, feeling goose bumps on her arm as I ran my hand along it.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed.

“It’ll be warmer if we share the same bed.”

“Yes, it would.” She kissed me noisily on the cheek, then jumped up. “Brr,” she said, extending me a hand. I took it and she pulled me up.

“I’ll make the bed,” I volunteered.

“Okay, I’ll clean up in here,” she answered.

I went into my room and hurriedly threw some sheets and a blanket on my bed. When I came back into the living room, Cordelia had folded up the sleeping bag and neatly draped our clothes over the couch. She was in the kitchen putting away the dishes and blowing out the candles.

The fire gave out a dull red glow, the last feeble warmth from the embers.

“Let’s get to bed. You’re shivering,” she said as she left the kitchen. I took the candle and led her into my room.

We got into bed, lying close to each other on my small, single bed. She shivered and moved closer to me, pressing against me for warmth. I tentatively put my arms around her, not wanting to seem too insistent. She had only offered me this night; perhaps she only needed, or wanted, to make love once. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to stop touching her.

She wrapped her arms around me, burying one hand in my hair. “Damn, Micky,” she said. “Michele. Middle name?”

“You’ll laugh,” I answered.

“No, I won’t.”

“Antigone. The Greek influence, I guess.”

“Michele Antigone Robedeaux,” she whispered softly in my ear.

I almost started crying, but caught myself. The last person that had ever used my full name had been my dad. “Knight. It’s Knight now,” I said to get the memory of my father’s voice out of my head.

“Shh, I know,” she answered, stroking my cheek. She kissed me lightly. Then again. I responded, no longer caring if she knew how much I wanted this.

“Are we going to do this again?” she said with a slight laugh.

“Only to keep warm,” I replied to keep her laughing, to hide my need.

“Good idea.” She kissed me again.

I wanted to make love slowly, but my desire for her flared. My embrace tightened, one arm around her shoulders pushing her breasts against mine, the other down around her waist, then her hips, pulling her to me. My hand moved to go between her legs. I stopped myself, my hand on her thigh.

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to slow myself down.

“Micky, for what?”

“Too fast, too rough. I’ll…”

“No, you won’t,” she responded. She laughed, pulling me on top of her and wrapping her legs around me. “Come on,” she said, still laughing. “Faster. Rougher.” She guided my hand between her legs. “Go in me.” I did. “Oh, yes,” she rewarded me. “Can you spread your legs enough for me to enter you?”

“Yes, I can.”

Somehow she got her hand between our bodies and put a finger up in me. I gasped as she started moving in and out. I started losing my concentration because of what she was doing to me. I wasn’t sure if I was still moving my fingers in her, or just lying still, letting her do me.

“Stop. Or at least slow down,” I said. “I can’t pay attention to what I’m doing.”

“Let me go down on you.”

“I’m about to come,” I replied.

She took her fingers out.

“Not yet. I’ve still got some exploring to do.”

“I’m not sure I can move.”

“Then don’t. I’ll move. You can sit on my face.”

I laughed. The thought delighted me. Because she wasn’t just looking for a physical release, but she wanted to touch me, too. If only for a night. I rolled off her. If she hadn’t caught me, I would’ve fallen off the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” I said.

“On your back. And spread your legs.”

I did. She didn’t have to stay down very long. I had closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them to look at her. Cordelia making love by candlelight, I thought as I watched her. Making love to me. The thought made me come.

I lay exhausted, holding her and kissing her wet face.

“I’ll be down in a second. Let me catch my breath,” I said.

“I can’t wait,” she said, emphasizing each word. She spread her legs over my thigh and started moving against me.

“Not yet,” I said. “A hand, a tongue, let me.”

“Just hold me. Hold me very tight,” she said in short breaths.

I held her as she let out a long gasp, arched for a second, then pushed herself into me. I held her until her shudders subsided, until she lay still, until her breath resumed a soft, steady cadence.

“God, that’s good,” she said, smiling at me in the candlelight. “I think I could fall asleep right here on top of you.”

“I don’t think I would mind.”
I wouldn’t mind if you stayed forever.
I wanted to hold on to Cordelia as best I could. In the morning I would have to let her go and wish her well.

“Thank you, Michele Antigone,” she said as she slipped off me.

“You’re most welcome, Cordelia. Cordelia?”

“Katherine. Pretty boring.”

“Cordelia Katherine James,” I said for the sound of it. “Pretty, not boring.”

“Good night, Micky.”

“Good night.”

I blew out the candle. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me.

“I haven’t used you too badly, have I?” she asked, a dim shadow in the darkness.

“No more than I deserve,” I answered. Since that wasn’t satisfactory, I continued, “No, you haven’t. It was my choice.”

“All right. I hope that’s the truth.”

“It is,” I assured her. It was close enough.

I put my head on her shoulder and we fell asleep that way.