After letting her hair dry hanging loose over her shoulders, Aisling then tried tying it high up on her head in a pony-tail. Not too sure how she felt about it, she brushed it out again and then fiddled about with it in various styles. After a few tries, she caught sight of herself in the dressing-table mirror and started to laugh.
What on earth are you doing?
she asked herself.
Then suddenly, the smile froze on her face and the laughter caught in her throat and turned to tears.
Just what am I doing?
she asked herself again.
I’m a married woman with a husband and home in Ireland. And I’ve got to go back there
.
Then the tears started to fall, and continued to fall until she had to throw herself on the bed, and weep harder than she ever remembered doing before. She wept for the love she had lost with Oliver, and for all the time she had wasted in trying to keep her marriage alive. Then she wept for the children she had desperately wanted – but never managed to have.
And then last of all she cried because she had found something beautiful and worthwhile in her life – the happiness she had found these last few days with Jameson – and the mountain of guilt that had come with it. She had found a man she desperately wanted and she could find no reasonable way of keeping him. And she shed more tears for the fear she felt about changing things in her life – and the fear of her parents’ disapproval, anger and hurt.
After all the crying, she turned in towards the pillow, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Sometime later, she woke with a start to the sound of the porch-bell ringing. She shook her head to clear her thinking, and was rewarded by a dull throbbing at the back of her eyes. Then she remembered about the silly hairstyles and the crying.
Quickly, almost stumbling, she moved from the bed to the mirror. Unlike earlier on, she saw nothing to laugh or smile about. A swollen, red face looked back at her. The sight of it nearly made the tears start again, but instead she forced herself to go into the bathroom and splash cold water all over her face. It made little difference. Too many tears had caused the damage, and a little drop of water was not going to make it suddenly disappear.
The bell rang again, and Aisling froze at the thought of answering it with her face such a mess. What if it were her parents and Jean and Bruce back already? No, she argued with herself, they wouldn’t ring the bell. She would have to answer it now. There was obviously no one else in the house. Michael and Ali and their friends must have gone off when she was asleep.
She forced herself down the stairs, hoping whoever it was would be gone by the time she reached the ground floor. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, she could see a tall, shadowy figure through the mosquito netting on the front door.
When she heard her name called in a low tone she knew it was Jameson Carroll. Her heart lurched and a part of her wanted to fly back up to the bedroom and hide – but she didn’t. The sensible part made her stop for a few moments, gather herself together and walk towards the door.
Very slowly, she opened it. Before he had a chance to see her face, she turned away and walked back towards the kitchen.
“Aisling?” he said quietly, and when she didn’t answer he followed her inside. It was obvious by the hunch of her shoulders that something was wrong. Very wrong. She went over to stand by the window, her back to him.
“What is it?” he asked in a low voice. “What’s wrong?” Then, in a few long strides he was across the room and pulling her into his arms.
“I can’t . . .” she said, pulling away. “I’ve been so stupid . . . I shouldn’t have got involved in this . . . it’s not fair to you.”
“It’s OK,” he said soothingly. He moved one hand to gently stroke her hair. “We’ve done nothing wrong, Aisling . . . we’re just two people who have got to know and like each other. It’s natural and it’s good.” Gradually, he released his hold on her and, as she moved to a chair to sit down, he noticed her swollen face. “Hell,” he said in a broken whisper, “have I done that to you? Have I made you that
unhappy in the little time we’ve known each other?”
“You haven’t caused me any unhappiness, Jameson,” Aisling said. “It’s just the opposite. I’ve never felt so happy in all my life.” She stopped. How could she explain this to him? How could she make him understand what all this meant to her? How their lives were so different. He was so totally and completely in control of his life . . . made all his own decisions. While she lived her life pleasing everyone else. “Could we . . .” she said in a halting voice, “could we just be friends for the rest of the time I’ve left?”
Jameson closed his eyes.
Aisling watched him, and waited.
And then he finally nodded. “Okay,” he said, with a catch in his voice. “If we’re going to be friends, then let’s start right now.” He gave a little cough to clear his throat. “We’ll go get Thomas, and we’ll go for a friendly trip out this afternoon.”
“Thanks,” Aisling said hesitantly, unable to look him in the face. Although her heart was sinking, one part of her was greatly relieved that he had agreed to what she’d asked. While she was hugely flattered that a man like Jameson Carroll could experience such strong feelings for her – his acceptance of the situation left her free from the guilt she would carry if she went too far with him physically. And it left her free to pick up her life back home just as she’d left it – without the burden of knowing she’d broken her sacred marriage vows. It would mean she could face Oliver and her family with a more or less clean conscience. It meant she could go back home the good, selfless wife and daughter she had always been – if that was what she wanted.
But another part of her felt suddenly bereft at losing the closeness she’d found with Jameson. Losing the person she had become with him. And losing an important bit of herself in the process.
* * *
Thomas was delighted to see Aisling, and even more delighted when he was told that he could pick where they would go for their trip. Any tension that was evident between herself and Jameson had dissolved when they reached the house, and Thomas’s enthusiasm swept over everything else.
“You wait,” he told Aisling excitedly, “you just wait – wait until you see this place!”
“Okay, buddy,” Jameson said, throwing him the car keys, “just keep it calm now, because it’s a good little ride out there.”
Aisling rode in the front of the car with Jameson while Thomas sat in the back, chatting and pointing out things as they went along. Sometimes they lapsed into an easy silence, and Aisling caught herself looking across at Jameson as he concentrated on driving. At one point her gaze took in his hands and arms and then moved down to his jean-clad thighs and she was amazed at the sudden physical effect it had on her. She felt a rush of damp heat in her face and low down in the depths of her stomach – a strong, sexual heat that left her feeling terrified that Jameson might somehow sense what she was thinking.
More than a few times he caught her eye, and she could not stop herself from looking back longingly into his – but they both said nothing. Then, as they were coasting along a seemingly endless, straight road, his hand came across to rest on Aisling’s upper leg and she instantly felt her lower body burning up again. When she looked up at him, she could see by the intensity in his eyes that touching her had had the same effect on him.
They stopped off to buy cold drinks and ice creams at a kiosk along the way, at the entrance to a waterfall. Then, with Thomas taking the lead, they had a walk along the narrow hilly path that took them in view of the gushing water. Thomas rushed further on ahead to a spot where he could safely throw in pebbles. After a spell of shouting words of praise for all his great shots, Aisling and Jameson went on a picnic bench, where they could sit in the sun and watch both Thomas and the thundering waterfall.
Aisling sat down first on the bench, and she was half-relieved and disappointed when Jameson went to sit at the opposite side of the table. Then, after a few minutes she felt his long legs collide with hers under the table. She stiffened for a second, wondering if she should move, but the feel of him against her drew her like little pieces of metal to a strong magnet – and her legs stayed still locked against his.
“I’ll have lots of lovely memories of America to take back,” Aisling said, for something to distract them from the physical tension. “The trees and flowers, and the lovely blue water at Lake Savannah and amazing places like here.”
“Yeah,” Jameson said. “I guess it has a good effect on you. I decided to move here full-time because I reckoned that I was less tense and angry up around Lake Savannah than I was in New York City.” He raised his eyebrows. “I suppose it suits my temperament better.”
“Is that when you started painting?” Aisling asked.
He thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said, “I suppose it was. I’d always dabbled about at painting since I was a kid, but I hadn’t done anything serious for years. I had more time on my hands when Thomas was little – he’s always slept a lot, and it kinda filled the time.”
“I’d love to have a proper look at your work.”
“Sure, I’ll show you round the studio tomorrow if you have the time.
Then Thomas suddenly came rushing back towards them.
“Dad! Da-ad! I’d like to dive – in there!” he said, pointing in the direction of the waterfall.
A dark frown crossed Jameson’s face, and he got up from the picnic table. “No, Thomas,” he said, shaking his head. “People don’t dive or swim in there – it’s real dangerous. You could be drowned.”
Thomas shook his head vigorously. “Not me! I’m a very good swimmer.” He grinned up at Aisling. “I’ve got lots of medals . . .”
Jameson put a hand on either side of Thomas’s face, determined to have his full concentration. “Listen, buddy,” he said very seriously, “you must never, ever, swim anywhere without checking with me. D’you understand?”
Thomas’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes looked back dolefully at his father. “Yes, sir,” he replied obediently.
“Good boy,” Jameson whispered, then he reached forward gave the boy a great bearhug, almost lifting him up off his feet. “OK,” he said, letting him go, “we’ll catch you at the car in two minutes. You have a headstart –” And before he could say another word, Thomas was off and running down the path.
Jameson sank back down onto the bench. “Je-sus!” he said, running his hands through his hair. “That’s the one thing that really gets to me. I’m shit-scared when Thomas talks like that. It suddenly hits me smack in the face that there are things he really doesn’t understand.” He gestured to the thundering waterfall, then shook his head. “Answer me honestly, Aisling – do you think he’ll ever get to be more sensible and mature? D’you think he’ll ever be able to work things like this out for himself?”
Aisling took a deep breath. “It’s hard to tell,” she said carefully. “Like everyone else, boys like Thomas are individual, and they learn in a different way. Some will be more capable in one area than in others. He’s still young and I’m sure he’ll become more conscious of safety as time goes on.”
“Yeah . . .” Jameson said, looking back at the waterfall, “I reckon you’re right.”
They headed back towards the car now, and as they walked along, Aisling found herself slipping her hand into his. She had done it almost before she realised, and was grateful when Jameson squeezed her hand, but said nothing. She knew she was contradicting what she’d said earlier, and hoped that he wouldn’t feel she was playing around with his feelings.
* * *
When they drove into the town Thomas had picked, Aisling was relieved to get out of the car because every minute spent in close proximity to Jameson was a sweet torture that was difficult to endure.
Thomas babbled on about how it
was an old-western cowboy-style town, and kept pointing out the traditional craft shops selling patchwork quilts and old-style cross-stitch cushions and wooden toys and suchlike things – delighted to have a new audience in Aisling.
As they walked down the wide streets, Aisling found she was starting to match the boy’s enthusiasm, as she was fascinated by all the details of the wooden buildings – from the ranch-style doors to the galloping horse murals on the walls.
“There’s not too many shops open on a Sunday,” Jameson
said apologetically, “but it’s nice for a walk out anyway.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Aisling said. “I’m enjoying just looking around. It’s absolutely amazing.” She stopped to look at a shop window filled with traditional rag-dolls. “I think my sister’s little girl would love one of these – I won’t be a minute.”
“Let’s go – to my
favourite
place!” Thomas said, tugging on his father’s sleeve.
“We’ll be there soon, Thomas,” Aisling could hear Jameson say as she made for the shop door. “Just be patient for a little while longer. Aisling wants to get some stuff for her folks back in Ireland. She has to buy them today in case she doesn’t come back here again . . .”
Aisling’s heart dropped at his words. At the awful thought of never seeing this gorgeous man again. She turned on the doorstep of the shop and found him looking at her. For a few seconds their eyes held, and Aisling felt like rushing over and burying her head in his chest, and then dragging him off somewhere secret where she could lie in his arms.