Summer Breeze Page 12

  “TV. It’s after nine.”

  Slade stretched. “Yeah. I’ve got to go soon. It’s been a long day. Everyone has to work tomorrow.”

  Morgan spoke before thinking. “I don’t. I mean, of course, I’ve got Petey.…” She gazed lovingly down at her sleeping son.

  “Does he sleep through the night?”

  Morgan stared at Slade.

  “I have friends with children,” Slade said defensively. “I know a couple whose daughter still won’t go to sleep unless she sleeps in their bed, and she’s two.”

  Morgan shifted the heavy lump of her precious boy over to her other arm. “Petey’s been sleeping through the night for about six months now. Thank heavens. And he sleeps in his crib.” Slade wore cargo shorts and a black tee. Now in the dusk, the red streak of burn across his nose, forehead, and cheeks was less noticeable. She couldn’t really see his face, and yet amazingly, she was still intensely aware of his extraordinary good looks. Of his sexuality. It was like having a sleek panther curled on the glider with her, something feral, sensual, patient, aware of her, biding its time.

  “I should put Petey to bed.” She struggled to rise.

  “Let me carry him.” Slade stood up in one uncoiled move and held out his arms.

  She thought for a moment. “Okay.”

  Slade bent down; together they maneuvered the child into his arms. For the briefest moment, Morgan inhaled Slade’s scent, a mix of fresh air, clean cotton, and an unfamiliar aftershave. She arched her back and stretched, free of the child’s weight. “Let’s go in through the front door,” she suggested, “so all the talk won’t wake him.”

  Slade followed her quietly down the steps, around the side of the house, across the lawn, and up the steps into Morgan’s house.

  “Wow,” he whispered when they entered. “Posh.”

  She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she only answered, “His bedroom’s upstairs.”

  In Petey’s room, she quickly turned on the night light, then smoothed out the bedsheet and lowered the bars on the crib. With great gentleness, Slade bent to lay the sleeping child in his bed. Petey stirred, murmured, his pink lips twitching. Curling on his side, he continued sleeping. Morgan reached past Slade for Petey’s light cotton blanket and covered him, then stood for a moment, watching the boy sleep, as she always did. Only this time she was aware that it wasn’t Josh next to her—not that Josh was around much these days to help put Petey to bed. She was aware of Slade’s tight muscular concentration. He lived with a shield around him. Right now the shield drew her like a magnet.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and went out into the hall. Slade followed. She pulled Petey’s door halfway shut.

  “What about his diaper?” Slade asked.

  “He’s not wearing one,” Morgan confessed with a grin. “We allowed him to water the bushes by the side of the house. He was thrilled. I think he’s pretty much drained himself dry. Anyway, I’ll have to change his sheets tomorrow. He’s got sand on the bottom of his feet and heaven knows what in the pocket of his shorts, but I decided I’d deal with that tomorrow rather than wake him up for a bath tonight.”

  “Gosh.” Slade stopped by an open door. “Is that your bedroom? Do you mind?” Before she could answer, he stepped inside. He strode across to the window overlooking the lake, then came back to the door, flicked on the overhead light, and surveyed their room before focusing on the bed. “Waverly, right?”

  “Hey, you’re good.” Their queen-size mattress, bound in crisp white sheets, sat on a long, low heavy black frame with two black bedside tables, creating a kind of Asian look. It was lower to the ground than most beds, which for Morgan had created difficulties when she was nursing Petey and had to get them both into the bed in the middle of the night. But the look was spectacular.

  “It’s my business.” Slade looked at their chest of drawers. “Although I can’t place this.”

  “It’s Thrift Shop, circa 2009,” Morgan joked. “I haven’t found time to buy chests that will look good with such a—what the saleswoman called—a statement of a bed.” Morgan flashed on the days when they first bought the bed, how she and Josh had made love in it over and over again, turned on by its expensive unusual lines, feeling as if they were in another country, on another planet.

  Slade squinted, thinking. “In our shop in Boston, we have a black lacquered table cabinet with five drawers, antique Chinese, probably 1880, similar severe lines.”

  “Sounds like it costs a fortune.”

  “About two thousand. But I could get a deal for you.” He didn’t look at Morgan when he said this, but his voice was an invitation, an overture.

  “I’d have to talk with Josh about it before I decided.”

  “Sure. Tell you what. I’ll take a photo of it and email it to you and Josh.”

  “Okay.” Morgan was uncomfortably hot, even though she knew the air-conditioning was on low, keeping the temperature just right for Petey. She turned away and hurried down the stairs, and then, as if prompted by something she didn’t know resided within her, she went into the living room. She flicked on the overhead light.

  “What do you think about this room?” she asked Slade.

  “It’s cool. Minimal. Low tones. I like it. I really like the picture on the wall over there, too. Who did it?”

  Morgan laughed. “Your sister.”

  “No way.” He crossed the room to stand in front of the painting, arms folded, studying it. “Wow. I had no idea.” In a flash, he changed subjects. “Your dining room—you need a buffet or something.”

  “I know. But, remember, we’ve only owned the house for a few months, and Josh thinks it’s important for me to get it right.”

  Slade ran his hand over the dining room table surface, feeling the wood. “Josh thinks it’s important? Don’t you?”

  “I’m kind of decoratingly challenged,” Morgan joked. “I can’t get too excited about ‘creating a statement.’ To be honest, I loved the furniture in the house I grew up in. All big, fat comfortable sofas and chairs in chintz, with miles of thick carpet. It was deliciously homey, which was great, because my parents are both physicians and seldom were around.”

  Coming back into the living room, Slade plopped down on one of the long gray sofas. “It’s comfortable enough.” He glanced around. “But perhaps the room is a bit cold.” He stood up, squinting, thinking. “Here’s what I’d do. Over there by the window facing the street? A Victorian settee. It would be eye-catching. A contrast to this modern stuff.”

  “No one ever sits over there,” Morgan told him.

  “That’s because there’s nothing to sit on,” he shot back sensibly. “I’m just saying. If you mixed it up a bit, I think you’d feel more at home here.”

  “I suppose you have the perfect piece,” Morgan said cynically.

  “Ah, you’ve insulted me.” Slade pretended to be hurt. He crossed the room and went out into the hall, just slightly brushing Morgan’s arm with his own. “Now, even if I had the perfect piece, I wouldn’t tell you,” he teased.

  She started to follow him out the front door, then stopped. She had sat out on the deck in the late evenings, waiting for Josh to come home, with Petey asleep in his crib, but if she went back to Natalie’s, she wasn’t sure she’d hear him if he woke crying.

  “Slade,” she called, “I’m going to stay here.”

  He turned and looked at her with a quizzical, even worried expression.

  “Because of Petey,” she explained. “In case he wakes.”

  “You want me to tell Josh before I take off?” Slade asked.

  For just a moment, Morgan wanted to say no. No, let Josh wonder where she’d gone. Let him wonder if she’d ridden away with Slade. But of course Josh wouldn’t think that, and he wouldn’t wonder where Morgan was. He’d know she’d be somewhere near Petey.

  “Sure,” Morgan said. “Tell Josh I’m on our deck. And, Slade, thanks for the advice.”

  “I’ll email you some photos,” he said, and di
sappeared into the dark.

  She went out the kitchen door and leaned on the railing of their deck. By now night had fallen but lights from the houses nearby allowed her to see what was going on two doors down. People were dispersing. Ben waved at Morgan as he walked around Natalie’s house to his car. Bella had gone. The lights were off on the Barnaby deck. Josh was helping Natalie and Slade carry the last of the party glasses, bottles, plates, and napkins inside. The soft, dark air carried sounds to her like drifts of blossoms: laughter, the murmur of conversation, music from across the lake, a whip-poor-will’s call. She breathed in deeply, savoring the fragrance of some flower she couldn’t name. For a few moments she could believe she was in paradise. So much happiness around her, her little boy safely asleep, her muscles aching with the pleasure of use, her body filled with delicious food and wine, and her life surrounded by such interesting friends.

  She wanted to share this contentment with her husband.

  After a while she heard an engine start up; Slade, she assumed, on his way back home. Leaning on the railing, Morgan watched Josh say good night to Natalie.

  “Great party,” he told her. He sounded happy. Relaxed.

  “Thanks for coming,” Natalie told him, waving as he went down their steps and across the lawn to his own home.

  Morgan turned to lean in what she hoped was a seductive pose, arms and back on the railing, hips canted forward. Josh came up the steps.

  “Hey,” he said. “Petey in bed?”

  “Out like a light.”

  Instead of approaching her, Josh went into the house. “Aren’t you coming?” he called over his shoulder. “It’s late.”

  She went into the kitchen, slid the glass door shut, and latched it. “I spent some time in the house with Slade,” she remarked, hoping to catch some kind of attention from her husband.

  “Oh yeah?” Josh was at the sink filling a glass with water. He wore his bathing trunks and a rugby shirt, and his red hair stuck up in every direction. His skin was pink from the sun. She could see the muscles of his shoulder blades moving under the fabric of his shirt.

  “He had some interesting suggestions about furniture.”

  “I’ll bet.” Josh’s tone was sour.

  Hope perked up in Morgan’s heart. Could he possibly be a bit jealous?

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “He helped me put Petey to bed. He looked in our bedroom, really liked our bed, suggested an antique Asian chest for our clothes.”

  “Not a bad idea. But I bet the price tag is high. I think he’s a wheeler-dealer.”

  So he wasn’t jealous. Snippily, Morgan replied, “I thought you wanted me to purchase upscale items.”

  “Right.” Josh drank his water thirstily. “I had too much sun and beer today.”

  “We all did. We needed it.” Crossing the room, she leaned up against him.

  Josh jerked his shoulder as if twitching off a fly. “Sunburn.”

  “Everywhere?” Morgan asked, using all the sexiness she could find to flavor her voice. In the early days of their marriage, that was all it would take for Josh to turn and take her right there up against the refrigerator.

  “I’ve got work to do, Morg,” he said grumpily.

  She hated it when he called her Morg. And he knew it. Who would want to be called Morg, with its echoes of morgue?

  Still, standing this close to her husband, feeling his body heat, her own mood so mellow, all combined to make her persevere. Gently, she leaned her hips against his. “I promise not to take too long,” she teased. Affection for her husband swelled inside her, a sense of love and longing she hadn’t felt for months. “Sweetie,” she whispered, lightly touching his back, “this was such a lovely day. And all because of you, because you work so hard, because you took the job that made it possible for us to live here in this great place.”

  She sensed his tension ease. Josh turned around, put his hands on her shoulders, and touched his forehead to hers. How long had it been since they had been with each other like this, like lovers, man and woman, husband and wife, instead of adversaries or merely employees in the business of running a family?

  “Morgan.” He pulled her against him, hugging her close.

  She could feel a struggle inside him, could feel how something was fighting to break through. “What is it?” she asked, leaning back to search his face.

  He swallowed. “I just … I’m glad you had a good day. It matters a lot that you thanked me, that you know my work means something for us as a family. That’s why I took the job. I know I work long hours. I’m not home as much as you’d like. It seems like I’m always on the computer, but it will get better. This is just my first year. It’s hard for me, too.”

  “Oh, Josh,” Morgan murmured, nuzzling into his neck.

  He took her hand. “Let’s go to bed.” He added, with a rueful smile, “But do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” she promised.

  “Try not to press my shoulders. I was an idiot not to wear a shirt all day.”

  She laughed and let him lead her upstairs.

  10

  By the time Bella and Aaron left Natalie’s and returned to the Barnaby house, Louise and Dennis had turned off the television and gone upstairs to bed. Bella pulled the sliding glass door shut from the deck, locked it, and did a quick survey of the kitchen. All was tidy. She flicked off the kitchen light and began to walk into the front hall, but Aaron put his hands on her waist and stopped her.

  He whispered into her ear, “Come back to my place.” He smelled warmly of Coppertone and sun, and his hands were strong and sure.

  Bella hesitated. She knew she existed in an uncomfortable arrangement in this house, where she’d lived all her life. She’d had sex. She was on the birth control pill. Her parents were aware of that. Yet, she couldn’t manage to invite Aaron to spend the night with her in her bedroom.

  The image was amusing, because Bella’s bedroom remained girlish, with two twin beds covered in floral patchwork quilts. Muscular Aaron would look peculiar in such a setting. But more than that, Bella wouldn’t want to make love with Aaron, not in this house where her parents were sleeping, or, worse, not sleeping.

  Aaron’s hands smoothly roamed around to her midriff, lightly touching her breasts. “Come on. You know you want to.”

  Bella pulled away, turning to face Aaron. “I do want to,” she agreed. “But, Aaron, first—we need to talk.”

  Aaron stepped close to her, only inches away. “No we don’t. We don’t need to talk tonight. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “Aaron, please. Listen. I feel so—uncomfortable about everything.”

  “You mean about my job in California.”

  She echoed his words sadly. “Your job in California.”

  “All right,” Aaron said. “I put it the wrong way. I don’t know that I’ll get the job. I’m one of the top three candidates. That’s what they told me, and that’s all I’ll know for the next few weeks.” The light from the hall illuminated the dark kitchen enough for Bella to see Aaron’s face. He was such an honest man, and his gaze was clear. “Let’s not think about California. Today was a perfect day. Let’s have a perfect night.”

  She kissed him. Upstairs a toilet flushed and water ran. For a moment Bella froze, like a high school kid caught in a misdemeanor.

  “You’ll have to bring me home tomorrow so I can get dressed for the shop,” she reminded him.

  “I can do that.”

  “Okay. I’ll grab my purse and leave a note for my parents.”

  They went out into the night, easing the front door closed behind them. In the Volvo, on the way into Amherst, they passed Barnaby’s Barn, barely visible in the darkness except for a soft glow from the security lights inside.

  “So,” Aaron asked, “what’s going on with the shop?”

  Bella hesitated. “Slade came back. He thinks some of our family furniture is really valuable.”

  “Hey, that’s great. Your parents might be able to sell enough furniture to gi
ve them some security for retirement. Or even for some luxuries.”

  The lights of Amherst flashed against the car windows. They passed Subway, 7-Eleven, a gas station, and Aaron turned down a side street toward the apartment complex.

  “I had a good talk with Slade today,” Aaron continued. “He knows his stuff. We’re at opposite ends of the spectrum—I’m modern, he’s antique—but I respect his opinion.”

  “Let’s not talk about the shop right now,” Bella suggested as Aaron parked in front of his apartment building.

  Bella had seen Aaron and Slade talking this evening at the cookout. Slade had been flipping burgers on the grill and drinking a beer; Aaron had been holding out a platter of buns and drinking a beer, too. Men multitasking. They’d both been barefoot, in bathing trunks and polo shirts, with sun-dried hair ruffled by the wind. Aaron was shorter, but much more muscular. Sturdy. Slade was tall and lean. The back of Aaron’s neck looked powerful and sunburned. The back of Slade’s neck was obscured by his shaggy black hair.

  Bella tried to erase the image of the two men as she and Aaron went up the walk and inside the converted Victorian house. Aaron’s apartment was on the second floor, which meant they got noise from the apartments below and above, but in the summer the air-conditioning unit drowned out most sounds.

  Aaron didn’t turn on the overhead light but pulled Bella to him and whispered, “Did I tell you how good you look in a bikini?”

  The terrible thing was that Bella was so glad Aaron didn’t want to continue with a serious talk that she wrapped herself around him, kissing him passionately, not quite sure exactly who the passion was for.

  Later, in the shadows of Aaron’s bedroom, they lay together like spoons, with Aaron’s arm around Bella’s waist. The air conditioner hummed reliably, making the room cool enough that they needed a sheet over them.

  “This is an important time for me, Bella,” Aaron murmured.

  “Mmm,” she agreed sleepily.

  “In a way, it’s the time.”

  The tension in his voice stirred her into wakefulness. “What do you mean?”