The Lovers (17 page)

I will not do that.

My pulse is racing, hitching unevenly in my veins. But eventually, as Jack's breathing calms and his heartbeat beneath my cheek grows lazy, my body stills, and my mind follows.

I'm sleepy, spent. And it feels too good here, stretched out beside him. After a few minutes I'm struggling against the drowsiness that wants to overtake me. The darkness is like a blanket around us, just outside of the small circle of light
cast by the dim bedside lamp. And I can hear the roar of the ocean through the closed window. It has become familiar to me, comforting. Almost as comforting as Jack's quiet, warm body next to mine. Eventually, I sleep.

I wake in the dark. Jack must have turned off the light.

I know right away he's gone. But he's covered me with the throw blanket that normally sits on the back of the chair. Sweet, but not too sweet. He is, after all, gone. Slinking out in the middle of the night.

It's grown cold and I shiver. Pulling the small cotton throw around my bare shoulders, I get up and look out the window. It's dark, and I can't see anything but the faint amber glow from Jack's porch light.

I hate that I feel so damn empty. I know better. It's not as though I'm some dreamy teenager with her first crush. But I'm behaving as though I am. I hate that I can't seem to control how I feel. I couldn't with Audrey, and now I can't with Jack.

Is this supposed to be progress?

Anger simmers in my veins, suddenly.

I've been through all this fucking therapy, been told for months that I need to learn to open up again, to feel. But if this is where it leads me, this vacant sense of
aloneness,
maybe I was better off before, safely shut down.

But that can't be right, either.

Fuck.

I climb back into my empty bed, determined to sleep. I lay there for what feels like hours, my body tense, aching. I'm still awake as the sun begins to rise. But finally, my dry, stinging eyes close, and I fall into an exhausted, dreamless slumber.

 

“Bettina, wake up!”

It's Audrey. She's climbing onto the bed, looking fresh-faced and alert.

“What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty. You'd better get up if you're coming to the farmer's market.”

“Maybe I'll stay here.”

“Oh, come on. Come with us. It'll be fun.”

My eyes feel glued together, but she's right, I should go. It'll be better than sitting here, brooding.

“Okay. I'm getting up.”

I sit up, and the blanket drops away, and I am all too aware of my bare breasts. But it's not as though Audrey hasn't seen me naked before, and I feel too foolish to cover up. Foolish and a little turned on. I'm hoping she doesn't notice, or that she writes off my hard nipples as a reaction to the cool morning air.

But she hops up and heads toward the door. “We leave in half an hour. Hurry!”

I take a quick shower, assessing my sore muscles. My head aches, and my eyes have that scratchy feeling I always get when I've slept too little. Even after my shower, I'm still in a dream state as I pull on a pair of white capri-length cargo shorts and a tank top the same shade as the ocean in the afternoon. Looking into the bathroom mirror as I try to subdue my unruly hair into some sort of order, I can see that the color of the
tank makes my gray eyes look more blue than usual. My eyes look enormous to me, the pupils large and round, and there are shadows underneath. I feel shadowed this morning.

Yes, better to get out, just shake this off.

I slip into a pair of flip-flops and make my way groggily to the main house, hoping for coffee. But when I get there everyone is already loading into Viviane's SUV, everyone being Viviane, Patrice, Leo and Audrey.

Leo, Audrey and I ride in the back, with Audrey in the middle, and I'm nervous, edgy. I haven't really spoken to her since she went off with Charles. I feel as if I should say something, but maybe later, when we have a moment alone. Not that I know what to say.

Scenery flashes by, a blur of brilliant colors in the morning sun, everything the cool tones of the sea: the green of the cypress and eucalyptus trees, the blazing blue sky. It's going to be hot today, but I can't wait to get to town and get my hands on a cup of coffee. Meanwhile, I'm sort of half-asleep, unable to think clearly, which is, perhaps, a good thing. I don't want to think too much right now. There's far too much to think about and I'd rather avoid it this morning.

We arrive in downtown Santa Barbara. I haven't seen much of it, and it's a pretty town. The buildings are all older architecture, a mix of old brick and early-twentieth stone and plaster, with iron benches on the sidewalks, and small, leafy trees. There are galleries and cafés everywhere, as there are in any California coastal tourist town, but this place has a calm, quiet feel to it. When I look down the long main street I can see the ocean, glinting pale and silvery in the morning sunlight.

We park two blocks away in a small open parking lot. As we all spill out of the car, Audrey leans over and whispers in my ear, “You smell like sex, Bettina.”

She pulls away and flashes me a grin, and I blush, but don't say anything.

Has Jack already talked to her this morning? Or did he go from my bed to hers late last night? But no, she was next door with Charles, wasn't she?

I realize I have no idea.

I realize I have no right to question any of it.

I am in a lousy mood.

I lag behind the others a bit as we make our way down the street toward the section of Santa Barbara Avenue that's roped off for the farmer's market. White awnings cover the booths, but once we get right in there it's full of color. Produce, flowers, jars of homemade jam and honey, freshly baked bread. Finally, I see the coffee cart.

“I need to stop here,” I call out.

“Me, too,” Leo says, getting in line.

Viviane waves her hand absently; she and Patrice are bent over a table loaded with peaches, and Patrice is starting to bargain with the vendor already. I stand in line behind Leo, the scent of coffee nearly making me salivate. Luckily, he is quiet this morning. I don't think I can manage a normal conversation.

I wait, rubbing my eyes, only vaguely aware of my surroundings, obsessed with the idea of getting some caffeine into my system. I feel cranky and impatient. Too little sleep never agrees with me, but I feel worse than I should this morning. I don't want to think about why. I don't want to think at all.

A hand on my shoulder, and I turn to find Audrey has joined me. She slides her arm around my shoulders. “So,” she says quietly, “are you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” I know exactly what she means, of course.

“About you and Jack.”

“You already seem to know.”

“Oh, we are tight-lipped this morning, aren't we?”

She's smiling, but I don't feel like making jokes. I just shrug.

“Okay, babe,” she says. “You have every right not to share with me. But that doesn't mean I won't share with you.” She grins at me, moves in closer and whispers, “Charles is amazing! The man can go forever. I can hardly walk. And he's the nicest guy. I think I really like him.”

I imagine that's as committal as Audrey ever gets about anyone.

I really am cranky this morning.

“That's nice, Audrey,” I tell her.

She looks at me, blinks, and there's hurt on her face.

“God, I'm sorry, Audrey. I'm just tired, I guess.”

“It's okay.” She's all softness again as she strokes my hair, asks, “Are you all right?”

“Yes. I guess so.”

“Poor baby. Don't let him get to you. Don't let anyone get to you. Remember?”

“I remember.”

I think back to our conversation, where she told me not to let anyone have that kind of power over me, and she's right. Jack said much the same thing to me. And I have to stop and wonder, since they are both telling me this, if that's what I do—let people have power over me—if it's so obvious.

She leans closer, her lips right next to my ear, and says, “Not anyone but me,” and she kisses my cheek softly.

I shiver, desire like a tiny shard in my skin, prickling, tingling. Lighting me up.

But she's gone a moment later, moving toward one of the booths, stooping to examine a bunch of sunflowers. I pull in
a breath, try not to stammer when Leo turns around and asks me if I'm just ordering coffee or some pastries, too.

“I'm not really hungry. The others might want something, though.”

“Yeah, hold my place and I'll find out.”

I close my eyes, commanding my heart to stop pounding, my stomach to stop fluttering.

Leo comes back and slips into line behind me, and I turn around to ask him what we should order for everyone. Only it's not Leo. It's Jack.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

God, why must I talk like an idiot?

He smiles, that dazzling flash of strong, white teeth, and I am as smitten as I've ever been.

Damn it.

“I went for an early drive this morning and missed you guys leaving. Kenneth told me you'd come here.”

“Ah.”

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

“Sorry if I kept you up late.”

He smiles again, but this time I'm not falling for it. At least, I'm pretending not to.

“Jack, not everything is about you.”

“Okay…”

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his green cargo shorts and shrugs, looking down at the ground for a moment, then back up at me. And I can see that perhaps some of his cockiness is for show, something to protect him.

I feel like a total bitch, and I hate it.

“I'm sorry. I'm just…I was up a lot last night. I'm just tired, as you said. I'll be better once I've had some coffee.”

“It's okay.”

He rests a hand on my arm, and the heat of him burns right into my skin. How can I be so aroused and so irritated at the same time?

“I'm going to find that woman who sells the fresh-squeezed orange juice. Has anyone mentioned seeing her here again this year?” he asks.

“I don't think so. I don't know.”

I just want him to go. I want some time to wake up, to try to get my head on straight. To get over seeing Jack and Audrey in the same place. It's been difficult ever since the three of us slept together. And things are getting more and more confusing for me all the time. Maybe I should just go home to Seattle, stop all this. Audrey. Jack.

But I know I have no intention of doing that.

“Okay. I'll wander around and see you later,” Jack says.

“Okay. Sure. See you later.”

He moves away, his hand slipping from my arm, stroking my skin, and I don't know if he meant it to be a sensual touch, but it is.

I watch him walk off, the way his broad shoulders move beneath the thin cotton of his T-shirt, his lazy gait, the breeze ruffling his dark hair. I let out a small, girlish sigh.

“Hey, you okay?” Leo asks, stepping back into line with me.

Why is everyone asking me that this morning?

“Yes, fine. I just wish this line would move faster.”

“Looks like we're up next. No worries.”

I ask for my large latte and Leo orders for the group: coffee and some lovely, fresh croissants. I add too much sugar to the steaming paper cup, blowing on it until I can sip the brew without scalding my tongue.

Audrey comes up beside me again, but this time I welcome her presence. We're walking in between the rows of stalls, a
little behind Viviane and Patrice, who are clearly on a mission with the produce vendors.

“Better?” Audrey asks.

“Yes, thanks. The coffee is helping. More than I thought it would. The heat of it, even the scent, just makes me feel better.”

“That's good.” She bumps my hip with hers, smiling at me, and I smile back.

“I wonder sometimes how this one little thing, a good cup of coffee, can soothe me so much. It's not just that it wakes me up. Do you know what I mean?”

She nods, looping her hand through my free arm. “Growing up, my mom only drank coffee when we went out to dinner. I don't know why. But that was her ritual. Just like mine is always eating popcorn at the movies. No matter how stale or horrible it is, I have to have it.”

I sip from my cup, thinking. “My parents drank coffee every morning, but it was usually on the run, on their way out to work. I remember, though, on Sundays, we'd sit around the kitchen table reading. It was one of the few times we all spent together on any regular basis, and it always smelled of coffee.”

“Maybe that's why it comforts you,” Audrey says. “It's familiar. It's attached to a ritual.”

“Maybe.”

“I think so much of how we respond to things, think about things, operate in our everyday lives, is about ritual. It happens a lot more than most people realize. Waking up, having breakfast, washing our hair. Most people do the same things in the same order each day.”

“I know I do. I'm a little OCD, which I knew even before my therapist told me so. But I'm surprised to hear you do.”

“Why?”

“Because you seem to be such a…free spirit. And I'm sorry to use such a clichéd term, but I can't think of anything else.”

“Oh, I have my rituals. I'm fairly obsessive over them, actually. I have to have my toenails painted at all times. They've been painted every day of my life since I was sixteen. And I have to wash my hair every day. I can't stand not to.”

“It's beautiful, your hair,” I say, looking at it, the sun glinting in blue and gold on the nearly black strands of her long ponytail.

Audrey smiles at me, pulling me closer, her fingers stroking the back of my hand. My body is pressed into the plush side of her breast. And just like that our easy conversation has turned into something more. With her smoky-blue gaze on mine, she lifts my hand to her lips, brushes them over the skin, her tongue darting out, hot and wet.

Shocking, how good it feels, how pleasure runs from the back of my hand to my sex instantly. My breasts are aching, needing to be touched. I don't know what to do, how to react. Did anyone see that? Does it even matter?

I pull my hand away and sip my coffee, gulping too fast, and begin to cough.

She pats me on the back. “You all right?”

“Yes, I'm okay now. Thanks.”

“Audrey,” Viviane calls, “come look at these strawberries. I know how you love them.”

Another quick smile, then she's gone, leaving me standing there with my pulse hammering in my veins.