Remember the Time (24 page)

Matt pulled her out of the chair and onto the carpet. Using the blanket as a pillow for her head, he lowered himself next to her and found her mouth again. His hand swept down her shoulder and worked its way under her sweatshirt, covering her breast. Rubbing his thumb across her nipple, he felt the sensitive skin begin to pucker and she arched her back.

He released her mouth, and she cried out, “Don’t leave me!”

“I’m not leaving, Kate.” He straddled her, pushing the shirt above her breasts.

He bent to take first one, then the other, nipple between his lips. Then his hands were on her waist, unbuttoning her jeans, unfastening the zipper. He looked up for a moment and saw her gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hurry,” she urged him.

He couldn’t do anything but hurry. He was so hard it hurt.

Pulling her pants down, he freed one of her legs, but didn’t bother with the other. Her panties, barely there, met the same fate. Staring down at her for a split second, he groaned, “Shit, you are so beautiful.” Matt hastily stood, his fingers already working the buttons on his jeans.

She reached her arms out to him. “Please … I’ve missed you so much.”

Kate’s words stilled him and he realized he’d lost her to another time and place. As much as he wanted her here and now, Matt didn’t want her like this.

Kneeling down, running his fingers across the smooth skin of her stomach, Matt leaned close and softly said, “Kate? Say my name.”

Her lips parted as her eyes closed. “Paul …”

S
he was climbing up out of a deep hole. As she scrabbled to get to the faint light at the top, her hands kept slipping and she’d fall back a few feet. The light would dim, nearly going out, and then the struggle began again. At last, she pulled herself up and out.

Kate’s eyes came open slowly, and she blinked foggily. It took her a long moment to fully understand where she was. The floor felt hard and unyielding. Her back hurt. With great effort, she turned her head to stare at the fireplace. A few embers still glowed in the hearth. Despite the blanket that covered her, she was chilled, and tugged her sweatshirt back in place. It was then she realized she was naked from the waist down.

Bewildered, she sat up and had to smother a groan. The top of her head throbbed and the room dimmed for a second. Groping for the edge of the blanket, she pulled it aside and gazed at her bare legs with incomprehension. Her jeans and panties lay in a crumpled ball near her feet.

She closed her eyes and tried to remember, but all she saw was the deep, red pulse behind her eyelids. Forcing her eyes open again, she found herself looking at something white. It looked like a piece of clothing. She
reached for it, but even before her fingers had grasped it, Kate recognized the white fabric for what it was. Underwear. A man’s underwear.

Her mouth filled with saliva, as nausea overtook her. “Oh, God …” she whispered. “Oh, God, what happened?” Swallowing hard, she tried to keep the sick feeling under control. Taking deep breaths, she was on her knees when it all came back to her. “Oh, Lord,” she moaned, knowing she was going to vomit.

On her feet, Kate stumbled out of the den and down the hall to the bathroom, her hand covering her mouth. Planting both hands on the rim of the sink, she emptied her stomach. Kate retched again and again, tears running down her cheeks. Deep, gasping, shuddering breaths wracked her body, and it was over.

She sobbed out loud as she ran water to clean the sink. Pushing her hands under the frigid water, she splashed her face, and then finally looked at herself in the mirror. An unrecognizable woman looked back at her—her face filled with horror.

Christ, Kate, what have you done?

Matt sat on a rickety chair in the middle of the small room, wearing one of Paul Armstrong’s gloves. His eyes moved over every object the tower room held. He had been there for nearly an hour. Had touched everything. Opened every drawer. Breathed in the aura of his hero.

He had left Kate sleeping—passed out?—he didn’t know. He only knew he couldn’t stay there with her. God, he’d come so close. Even knowing she had no idea he was Matt, his fingers had stroked her—entered her. She was so wet. So ready. And then she’d moaned, saying, “Paul … I can’t take it anymore.”

Matt didn’t know what that meant. But he couldn’t forget the way she’d said Paul’s name. And what he
did
know was that she’d never really wanted
him
. She’d gone
so still that he’d become frightened. But she was breathing. That was when he’d pulled on his pants and come up to the tower room. She’d given him the key, hadn’t she? Immersed in the silence of the house and the tangible memories of Paul Armstrong, Matt tried to understand what had just happened. He didn’t like what he learned about himself. Because the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had wanted Kate because she’d been Paul’s. As if, by taking her, he could take in some part of Paul. As if she were the secret to Paul’s success.

Shit, Matt. Shit!

And now what? How were they going to face each other? They’d have to see each other day in and day out, and remember.

Pulling the glove off, he put it back on the shelf.

“What are you doing in here?”

Startled, Matt turned to face a pale, tight-lipped Kate. He started to speak, but couldn’t find his voice right away and had to clear his throat. “Are you okay?” he finally asked.

Ignoring his question, she repeated hers.

“I—uh … You gave me the key. I didn’t think you’d mind …” His voice trailed off, as he got a good look at her reddened eyes. She clung to the doorframe, as if it were the only thing holding her up. “Kate, I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened the way it did.”

Kate stared at him bleakly. “What are you saying, Matt? That at some other place in time it would’ve been all right?” She watched him blush. “It was wrong, plain and simple. And it’s my fault.”

His eyes on the floor, Matt said, “You didn’t want
me
. I figured that out.” Then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “We didn’t go that far, Kate.”

“We didn’t? Who are you kidding? I woke up naked! Your underwear was on the floor.” She choked on a sob. “We went far enough!”

“I can’t apologize for wanting you, Kate.”

“Matt, you’re
nineteen years old
! You could be my son, for Christ’s sake!” She groaned. “You
are
my friend’s son,” she said, and another wave of nausea engulfed her.

“Mom’ll never know. She’ll never find out. I promise!”

Almost to herself, she said, “And then there’s Mike …” Kate clutched her stomach. “Oh, sweet Jesus, Mike.”

As if on cue, the telephone began to ring. They both stood still, listening. It seemed to go on forever, and when it finally stopped their guilt became a palpable thing binding them together.

What time was it? Why was he calling now? Kate had no doubt that the caller had been Mike. Propelled by fear, she stepped to the window and looked across the street. His house was dark. There was no sign of his truck. Kate let out a ragged breath.

“Kate?”

She turned.

“What about Mike? What’s he got to do with anything?”

There it was. The million-dollar question. What did Mike have to do with anything? A faint voice in the back of her mind said,
Everything
.

“Mike and I …”

What, Kate? Why can’t you say it?

But she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words out loud. If she did—if Kate admitted she wanted Mike as much as he wanted her—then what had happened earlier was treason.

Puzzled, Matt asked, “You’re not going to tell him, are you?”

“I have to tell him, Matt. I’ve always been honest with Mike. He … his friendship means the world to me.”

And then understanding flooded Matt’s face. All the talk about Kate, the protective actions, the innuendos
that his mother made. They suddenly made sense when placed in context with Mike.

“Don’t tell him, Kate. He’ll hate us both.”

Kate stared into Matt’s hazel eyes, and knew he was right. The phone rang again, jarring her into action. “I have to answer that. It’s him.”

She ran from the room, leaving Matt standing alone. He felt a thin trickle of cold sweat run down the back of his neck at the thought of what his uncle’s reaction would be if he found out.

When Kate walked back into the tower room, Matt was gone. She moved to the window and saw the tail-lights of his MG disappear up the street.

The caller hadn’t been Mike, but Sheryl. And that made Kate feel even more afraid, because she’d come to count on Mike’s devotion. Which was why, after she’d told Sheryl Matt was on his way, Kate asked where Mike was staying.

M
ike lay on the left side of the king-sized canopy bed, idly running his fingers across the rice design of one of the posts. The bed seemed to stretch out forever, mocking the fact that he was alone.

A late call from Kate, aside from surprising him, left him feeling dissatisfied and edgy. A portion of their conversation kept running through his mind.

She’d told him about Homer, and then said, “I really wish you were here. Maybe—” But she’d cut herself off.

“Maybe what?” he’d asked.

“Nothing. It’s been hard for me. That’s all.”

He knew what that meant, and he’d asked, “How much did you have to drink?”

“A couple of brandies.”

“Is that all?”

She had hesitated. “And I took a Percocet.”

“God damn it, Kate. When is this gonna stop? When I come over someday and find you dead?”

“I’ll never do it again.” A small catch in her voice made him believe that maybe she meant it this time. She’d sounded afraid, almost cowed, and he’d reacted before he could stop himself. “What happened? Are you all right?” The line had been so quiet he couldn’t even hear her breath.

“When are you coming home?” she asked.

“Tomorrow night or Sunday. We ran into a few snags. Why?”

“I need to talk to you.”

Again, that little hitch in her voice, making him wonder what she wasn’t telling him. His voice hardened. “So, talk.”

“I can’t … not on the phone.”

“Then I’ll see you when I get back,” he’d replied firmly. “And don’t worry about Homer. He’ll turn up.”

She’d hung on the line, and he’d finally said, “Good night, Kate,” and severed the connection himself.

Mike closed his eyes, needing to leave now, knowing he couldn’t. The client was insisting on a complete rundown of expenditures, and the foundation was bending over backward to accommodate him. James Savage owned a good portion of Williamsburg’s commercial property, and they needed his funding.

This had been a hard trip for him. Williamsburg, dressed up for Christmas, was meant to be shared. Earlier in the day, while he had been holed up in a conference room at the College of William and Mary, a light dusting of snow had fallen. Coming out of the five-hour meeting, seeing the grounds transformed into a veritable winter wonderland, he was sorry he’d turned down the dinner invitation from one of the foundation’s members. It would’ve been better than being alone on a night like this.

Setting off on foot, he walked the short distance to the end of the campus. Passing the Wren Building, he ended up on Duke of Gloucester Street, the heart of Colonial Williamsburg. The wide, brick-lined street, bordered by expensive shops and restaurants, gave way to the Disney-perfect re-creation of a colonial town.

Leafless trees lined the broad street, their bare
branches outlined in glittering snow. Mike stepped up onto the brick sidewalk and stopped to look around. It was dusk, and the streetlights were just being lit by a young man. The oily yellow light reflected off the pristine buildings. Electric lights, made to look like candles, began to come on in the windows of houses. Cedar boughs, like cake decorations sprinkled with powdered sugar, were draped over railings and doorways. The street hadn’t been opened to traffic yet, and it was quiet.

The dinner hour loomed, and Mike walked on. It seemed that the only people on the street were couples. Arms linked, or hand in hand, they moved along, caught up in their own world. He’d never felt so lonely. The bells from the church chimed six times, and he picked up his pace.

A woman’s laughter, familiar, tumbled out across the empty street, and he quickly looked up to see where it was coming from. The door of the King’s Arms Tavern was just closing behind a man and woman. Feeling the first pangs of hunger, Mike crossed the street and followed the couple’s footsteps into the warmth of the building.

He waited only ten minutes before he was shown to a small table near a window. The room was dim. Only candlelight glimmered off the silver and pewter. A fire blazed in the hearth and the smell of bayberry filled the air.

Mike sat at the linen-covered table, sipping a glass of wine, knowing he should have eaten in his room at the hotel. This was definitely a night for romance. He felt out of place—left out. To pass the time until his dinner arrived, he took some papers out of his briefcase and began reading, but he couldn’t keep his mind on the words. He wanted to look across the table and see Kate.

“You work too hard.”

The woman’s voice came from behind, and he swung around in his chair and looked up. “My God. Allison!”

She smiled. “I wasn’t sure it was you, until you opened that briefcase. Who else would come to the King’s Arms and work?”

Losing some of his despondency, he smiled back and gestured toward the other chair. “Have a scat.” Allison came around to face him and he saw she hadn’t changed.

“I can’t, Mike. I’m not alone.” It was then he saw the diamond ring on her left hand. “I just wanted to say hello.”

“You look wonderful, Alli.”

She blushed at his use of her nickname.

“I see best wishes are in order,” he said, indicating the ring.

“Oh, yes. Thanks.” She lowered her voice. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Paul Armstrong. I liked him.”