The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (118 page)

“To my discredit, yes.”

Her heart soared, then she remembered:
He’s married.
“It’s my fault. If I’ve led you on—”

He didn’t let her finish. “It wasn’t anything you did, Anna.” He leaned close, the light falling over his face, in which she saw every line etched as if on a coin. “I enjoy your company—it’s as simple as that. More than I have any right to.” He took hold of her hand and this time drew her to her feet. “Tell me I haven’t scared you off for good.”

He wanted her. It wasn’t just her imagination. The realization was so startling she didn’t quite know what to make of it. She thought of Gary Kingman, her first and only boyfriend. They’d dated most of the fall semester of her freshman year before she’d finally relinquished her virginity. And though the experience had been less than magical, he’d made up for it by telling her over and over that he loved her. It wasn’t until the following weekend that she found out the truth when Gary’s roommate, after one too many beers, informed her that Gary had hung the bloodied sheet out the window of their dorm room the following day—the victor brandishing his spoils. She’d felt so violated she’d broken off with him at once, and for the rest of the semester had crept around campus with her eyes lowered, certain that everyone knew. Even after all these years she couldn’t think of it without cringing inside.

But Marc wasn’t like Gary.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she answered in a surprisingly firm voice.

“In that case, would it be all right if I kissed you?”

Anna nodded dreamily. In the chilly air she could see his breath, and as he drew close, its warmth against her lips was a kiss in itself. The deeper warmth of his mouth, tasting faintly of anise, came as a delicious shock. She grew lightheaded, her insides seeming to funnel down like sand in an hourglass. When she wound her arms about his neck, it was as much to anchor herself as to urge him on.

“Should we see about that cabin?” she murmured against his ear.

Marc drew back, his eyes searching her face. “I don’t want you to do anything you’ll be sorry for.”

She knew what he was saying, that it would only be this one night. But for Anna even one night would be a gift beyond imagining. “Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me I can take care of myself?” she asked lightly even as her heart roared in her ears.

There was no reason to rush home—Betty was staying the night with Liz (Monica wasn’t the only one Anna had come down hard on)—and as luck would have it, one of the cabins was vacant. The chatty middle-aged man at the front desk gave them a spiel about its being haunted, but Anna only smiled. That legend had been making the rounds since she was a kid—about the newlyweds who’d been struck by lightning in bed on their wedding night. She told it to Marc as they were making their way along the dimly lit path.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “They were in bed?”

“Supposedly a bolt came down the chimney while they were … um … you know.” She giggled, still feeling the effects of the wine.

“Well, at least they died happy.”

They found their cabin and unlocked the door. Anna was relieved to see that it wasn’t creepy in any way. There was a bed covered in a patchwork quilt, a pine dresser, and an easy chair. A jug of daisies adorned the antique wash-stand by the fireplace.

“Maybe we should tune in for the weather forecast.” He glanced at the radio on the nightstand. “On the other hand, we could always decide to live dangerously” He grinned, tossing the key onto the dresser. Anna felt the strength leave her limbs as he took her in his arms.

It was like in dreams, only better. The way he was kissing her she wouldn’t have noticed or cared if the heavens had opened. When he drew back at last, it was to unbutton her blouse, her best one, cream silk with tiny covered buttons. As it slipped to the floor she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. He gently pried them away. “No … I want to look at you.” His gaze was frankly admiring. “You have a beautiful body, Anna.”

She shivered, scarcely able to breathe. When he cupped a hand over her breast, her knees wobbled and for a moment she was sure they were going to give out. She murmured, “I think I’d better lie down.”

She slid between sheets, cool and crisp as blank paper on which anything at all might be written. They kissed some more, Anna shyly running her hands down his chest and belly … and below. He was less tentative with her, though no less gentle. He took his time, almost as if asking permission, before kissing her there … and there … and there. Anna trembled, nearly overcome by the flood of sensations. She thought once more of Gary and all the nights since—years of loneliness and despair, of lying in an empty bed longing to be touched. Tears came to her eyes now, tears of gratitude that she hadn’t gone to her grave without experiencing this.

He drew back at one point, and she tensed, thinking she’d disappointed him in some way. But all he said was, “You’re shivering. Should I close the window?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.” They’d left it open a crack to air out the room, and though she knew that to most people it would be chilly, the December breeze was balm against her heated skin. “Just a little nervous, I guess.”

He kissed her neck, whispering, “We’ll take it slow.”

When he entered her at last, she had to bite down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. Not because it hurt, but because it felt so good … so
right.
The strangest feeling came over her as she clung to him, arching to meet each thrust: a desire to make it last, to hold on to this forever, even as she rushed toward the climax.

When they came together, seconds later, it was like being released in midair—a moment of exquisite suspension before plummeting to earth.

Afterward they lay tangled together, struggling to catch their breath. She couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. “Now I know how those honeymooners felt,” she said.

He brushed the hair from her eyes, smiling. “I’m glad we didn’t have to die finding out.”

“Hold me.” She tightened her arms about him, feeling as if he were slipping away even though he hadn’t moved. She tried not to think about his wife or the fact that she wasn’t the first woman with whom he’d been unfaithful—the condom conveniently tucked in his wallet had testified to that. She didn’t want to spoil the moment. And anyway, what did it matter? He didn’t owe her an explanation.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of ghosts?”

She shook her head. “That’s for people who’ve run out of real life things to worry about.”

“Poor Anna.” He stroked her hair. “You’ve had a tough go of it, haven’t you?”

“But look where I ended up.” She smiled into his shoulder, peering up at the moon caught in a windowpane. “If it hadn’t been for Monica, we wouldn’t have met.”

“A compelling point.”

“And we still have the whole rest of the night. I don’t want to waste it feeling sorry for myself.”

A little while later they made love again, with less urgency this time, before she drifted to sleep spooned up against Marc, lulled by the sound of water lapping against a dock. Her last waking thought was.
Those honeymooners were lucky in a way. They never had to be parted.

Anna woke early the next morning to the raucous calling of blue jays. Seeing Marc’s head on the pillow next to hers, she wondered for an instant if she were still dreaming. Then he sat up and yawned, scrubbing his face with an open hand and croaking, “Morning.”

“Good morning to you, too.” How she’d longed to say those words to a man lying next to her in bed.

“You’re not in any hurry, I hope.”

His eyes traveled down her naked body. She’d thrown off the covers and her legs were stretched out languidly on the mattress in a wedge of sunlight. Normally she’d have tried to hide them, but now she examined them as dispassionately as if they belonged to someone else—a woman lying next to her on a beach perhaps. She observed that they were nicely rounded and curved in all the right spots. How was it that she hadn’t noticed until now?

“It depends,” she said, injecting a sultry note into her voice, “on what you have in mind.”

It was another hour before they climbed out of bed, mindful of the time. They showered and dressed, meandering into the lodge to find the breakfast buffet laid out. Anna helped herself to coffee and a bowl of fruit. Food was the last thing on her mind; all she could think about was Marc. Would she see him again? From time to time, perhaps. But would that be enough? She felt torn between wanting him at any cost and hoping she wouldn’t have to find out.

As they were getting up to leave, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Don’t fall in love with me,
his eyes warned, but all he said was, “Don’t forget your purse.” She’d been so caught up in her thoughts, she’d nearly walked off without it.

In silence they climbed the path to the parking lot. Morning sunlight winked in and out of the branches overhead, falling in bright patches over the ground cushioned with pine needles that crunched agreeably beneath their feet. When they reached his car, Marc turned to face her, taking her hand and saying gently, “I want to see you again, Anna … but I’m not sure it’d be such a good idea.”

She held very still, like a deer at the edge of a clearing.

“It’s not just that I’m married,” he went on. “I’m sure you must have realized by now that I’m no saint. But those other women …” His eyes searched her face, pleading with her to understand, “You’re not like them. I’m afraid you’d get hurt.”

Anna longed to cry,
I don’t care! I’ll take whatever I can get!
It wasn’t so much dignity that caused her to hold back as a selfish desire to hoard what little she had: If the memory of last night was all she took away from this, let it stand unblemished.

She took a deep breath of the clean air smelling of pine needles and sun-warmed timber. She could see the lake glinting through the trees below. Leaves from the white oak under which they stood drifted down like spent currency. Her heart breaking, for she was more than a little in love with him already, she said with forced lightness, “Don’t worry. You won’t hear from me again unless it’s life or death.”

She’d been thinking of Monica as she spoke. It never occurred to her that it might be her own life at stake.

I
F
I
DON’T LOOK
at the bars I won’t scream.

Instead, Anna kept her eyes fixed on the cinderblock wall across from her. It was institutional green, its painted-over graffiti faintly visible, like ghosts communicating from beyond the grave. She drew a small amount of comfort from the knowledge that there’d been others before her, if only the likes of Waldo Squires coming off a Saturday night bender; it made her feel the tiniest bit less isolated. At the same time, a voice in her head cried over and over,
This can’t be happening. It’s a bad dream.

Except in this particular nightmare, when she closed her eyes, it was only to open them again to the same green walls bathed in the stark light of overhead fluorescents. She sat on the edge of her hard cot with her knees pulled up to her chest, but she couldn’t escape the heat from the vent below that rose in dry eddies, making her skin itch and her lips crack. From behind the steel door at the end of the corridor drifted voices punctuated by an occasional raucous laugh or an order being barked, with the usual backdrop of ringing phones and clanging file cabinets. The very ordinariness of those sounds was an assault, a harsh reminder that though life as she’d known it had ended, to those outside it was just another day.

Please, Laura. Hurry up and get here.

Anna didn’t know what, if anything, Laura could do, but she knew she’d feel better once she’d arrived. Which was why she hadn’t wasted her one call on Liz. Her sister would have made a fuss and demanded that she be released while Laura would quietly go about accomplishing that.

For a wild moment Anna let herself imagine it was Marc coming to rescue her. But she hadn’t seen him in months, not since that night at the lake (the memory of which she’d replayed so often every detail was etched in her mind). He certainly wouldn’t want to hear from her now. If anything, he’d move to distance himself. An illicit affair was one thing, being linked to an accused murderess quite another. On the other hand, he’d know soon enough. It was probably all over the news by now.

Remembering the press that had been swarming outside her house, clamoring for blood, she shuddered. Most of her adult life had been spent in Monica’s shadow: fans showing up unannounced at her door, as if in touching her they’d be that much closer to Monica. Reporters wanting statements. People she barely knew stopping her on the street, wanting the inside scoop. Were Monica and Nicholas Cage
really
having an affair? Was it true she’d caught her housekeeper in bed with her husband?

After the accident it only got worse. As her assistant, Anna had been thrust into the very heart of it, fielding the hundreds of interview requests that had poured in, weeding through the mountain of letters from well-wishers who said they’d pray for Monica and crackpots who thought she’d gotten what she deserved. Anna became accustomed to seeing reporters and paparazzi camped outside the gates at LoreiLinda, and hearing the alarm sound when one of the more intrepid ones managed to sneak onto the grounds. Even as Monica grew more reclusive, her mystique had grown. Nowadays it was mostly would-be biographers and freelancers in search of Hollywood’s elusive white whale, and manufacturers and merchandisers eager to cash in on her name. It seemed the crudest of ironies that even in death, Monica’s shadow had eclipsed Anna, cutting her off from the light she’d been struggling toward.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the clanging of the door at the end of the corridor and the
shuffle-clump-shuffle-clump
of someone limping toward her. She looked up to see that it was Benny Dickerson. He stopped in front of her cell, peering in through the bars, his bassett hound eyes seeming to beg her forgiveness in some way.

“Your lawyer’s here,” he announced.

She blinked at him in surprise. “I didn’t know I had one.”