Foolish Notions (10 page)

She could tell he was deep in thought
because he didn’t take notice of the seagulls that were perched
on the railing crying for food, nor did he respond to the couple
walking hand in hand down the beach that turned and waved. She
speculated that his apparent bleak mood was why he hadn’t
rushed to his mom when he had gotten home. That surprised her.

Reluctantly, she turned away from the
window. She knew she was going downstairs and it wasn’t because
she was going to walk on the beach. She was going to see James. She
plucked up the tennis shoes, which were sitting on the bed with socks
stuffed in them, and tossed them back in the closet. She did the same
to the yellow windbreaker. The beach was going to have to wait a few
hours longer.

She found James sitting on a chaise
lounge. Two beer bottles sat on the weathered wood below him: one
full, one empty. His arms were folded tightly across his chest as his
gaze penetrated the setting sun. The brilliant oranges and reds
drenched his solemn features with color.

Quietly, she closed the door behind
her. She moved alongside the lounge. As she sat, she folded her legs
Indian style next to his beer. She looked out at the setting sun and
squinted her eyes against the gentle wind. The sun was a majestic,
bright orange-red globe that dipped behind the waves, slowly sinking
into the water. Long fingers of color stretched in each direction as
far as the eye could see. The sight was postcard perfect.

“Tomorrow is the day,”
James said, as he reached for his beer. “Is everything ready?”

She drew her eyes from the setting sun.
“Yes, it is.”

“What time does she go in?”

“One-thirty.”

“At the hospital or the doctor’s
office?”

“It is standard procedure for the
first treatment to be administered in the hospital.”

“Do I need to be there?”

“Not really.”

He took three big swigs and after a few
minutes said, “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want
me there anyway.”

“Did she say that?” She
pulled her hair over her shoulder so the wind wouldn’t blow it
in her face as she turned and looked at him.

“Not in those exact words. But I
got the message.”

“She doesn’t want you to
see what she has to go through.” Samantha wanted to touch his
arm and then decided against it. “She is a mother protecting
her child.”

“I don’t need protection.”
He said the words with such force his body stiffened.

“Try telling a mother that.”

As he put his beer back down, his hand
lightly brushed her bare knee. “How hard is it going to be on
her?”

“I’m not going to lie to
you, James. It’s like I told you yesterday. The therapy is
aggressive.”

He turned to her. “Everyone keeps
saying aggressive, what exactly does that mean?”

“It basically means that they are
using some intense drugs to destroy the cancer. Most likely she will
have some side effects from them.”

“A reaction to them?”

She nodded. “That’s right.”

“Like what?”

“It all depends on how her body
responds to the drugs.” She paused for a moment. “Let’s
not worry over the inevitable. We’ll take it as it comes.”

He gave an irritated laugh as he looked
at her. “Worry? My mom has cancer and you’re telling me
not to worry.” He stood up in one swift movement. “Well,
please, excuse me if I do, but it’s kind of hard not to.”
Without another word he went into the house.

Samantha looked at her feet. It took
every ounce of will not to get up and run after him. She wanted to
take him in her arms, hold him against her breast, and gently stroke
his hair as she spoke soft endearments that soothed his pain away. A
voice echoed in her ears—she was here to take care of Marie,
not James. He could take care of himself. This would be hard on him,
it might even test him, but he would survive. He would handle this
misfortune just like he handled any hardship that was thrown his way.
He would fight his way through it. He was resilient.

She raised her knees and dropped her
head on them in frustration. But this was his mom and he was hurting.
She cursed her softer side as she looked up at the last rays of the
setting sun. She sat in the dusk contemplating whether she should go
comfort him or go get her shoes and take that walk.

What kind of person was she if she let
him go on feeling this way without even trying to help him through
it? The least she could do was let him vent the agony he must be
going through. No one should have to suffer alone through the pain of
having a sick loved one. She got up and went into the house. James
was in the living room, slouched on a black leather sofa with a fresh
beer in his hand.

“James, I’m sorry for how
that might have sounded. I’m not saying ‘don’t
care.’ Of course you care.” She stood before him and
consoled, “I understand what you are going through.”

“Do you?” He looked at her
questioningly.

“Yes, I see it almost every day.
I see children who are so sick they can’t hold their heads up.
I see parents who would give anything to take that sickness away. I
see husbands worried about their wives and vice versa. And I see
children who are hurt and concerned about their parents.”

She sat down. “Your mom is
starting out with more of an advantage than most. For starters, she’s
going into this with a good outlook. If you want my opinion, that’s
half the battle.” She tallied on each finger as she spoke.
“Plus, she’s strong and healthy, and mentally, she is
ready for this. She has a son who will move mountains for her. And
she’s got one hell of a good nurse to take care of her.”

He lifted his beer but didn’t
drink. “Then why do I feel so helpless?”

“You’re not going to evade
that feeling no matter what you do. No one is. All we can do is be
there to support her. Be there when she needs us.” She touched
him on his leg, because she simply couldn’t refrain any longer.
“She’s going to be fine.”

* * * * *

He looked at her slowly, thoughtfully.
It wasn’t her business what he was feeling, how he was reacting
to his mom’s sickness, yet she was reaching out to him anyway.
Her compassion and concern left him speechless. She was an amazing
woman. And she had been his.

“What is it? You can tell me.”

He cleared his throat and shook his
head. “I’m sorry for getting so angry. And I’m
sorry about the other morning, too. I haven’t been myself
lately,” he said.

“Understandably. These next
couple of months are going to be long and hard.”

He nodded in agreement.

“I want us to be friends,”
she explained further. “We need to work with each other, not
against each other.”

“We used to work well together.”
As he looked into her eyes, she didn’t move; she only stared
back at him. Was it just her unique kindness that prompted her to
move into his home and take care of his mom or was there another
reason? He needed to know. And there was only one way to find out.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and he
focused on her lips, which were parted slightly. They were an amazing
soft pink; slightly damp from her running her tongue along them, and
staring at them caused his mind to wander. They had always kissed
like it was the first time. The faraway hunger that he’d felt
when he’d come home and found her there, stirred and spread as
he remembered how her mouth tasted, how it felt pressed against his.
Her lips were dewy and yielding and her bottom lip fit perfectly
between his teeth. They had an exceptional flavor reminiscent of a
mysterious exotic fruit. When he leaned toward her and she didn’t
move, he took it as a sign, and cupped the side of her face to guide
her to him. His mouth melted against hers.

Using his tongue, James subtly, gently,
teased her lips until they parted. The lingering little nibbles were
so he could taste her well-known warmth. He hadn’t tasted her
in so long he wanted to savor every drop.

He was consumed by the sensation of her
hair in his fingers, the softness of her cheek against his palm, the
sweet taste of her in his mouth. Her lips were warm satin, inviting
to the point of madness.

He wanted her more than he had ever
wanted her before. The need to touch every part of her body shot
through him with unexpected force. The intensity was astonishing,
even to him. He was desperate to reacquaint himself with every square
inch of that body, which he had known so well.

Samantha’s nails slid along his
scalp as her fingers ran through his hair, down to his neck. A moan
of pleasure escaped from her lips as her hands pulled him closer to
deepen the kiss. She leaned into him, pressing deeper into the sofa.

“Oh God, Samantha,” he
said. He wanted her and his voice was saturated with that want. He
couldn’t get closer even if he tried. This was how he
remembered it, captivating and sensual.

Instantly Samantha broke the kiss and
abruptly moved to the other side of the sofa. Her hand flew to her
mouth, touching her swollen lips as her trance-like gaze remain fixed
on the cushion in front of her.

“Samantha? What’s the
matter?” James sputtered as he tried to figure out how she had
moved from his arms so quickly. He looked down the sofa at her. She
looked as if she had just been slapped, not kissed.

She took a deep breath and commanded,
“Don’t ever do that again.”

James’s eyebrows shot up. He was
totally unprepared for the demand she hurled at him with poignant
intensity. “Excuse me?”

Her words came out slowly as she
carefully punctuated every last one. “Don’t you ever
touch me again.”

He scoffed at her statement, turning
her threat into nothing more than a hollow retort. “That wasn’t
just me. You were enjoying it just as much as I was.” He looked
into her eyes. “Or was that moan I heard a moan of protest?”

She jumped up from the sofa and raked
her hair behind her ears in an agitated manner. It took her a few
seconds to recover her composure. “I don’t enjoy being
manhandled.”

James’s laugh echoed throughout
the room when he stood up. He moved toward her and in a low, taunting
voice said, “I’ve touched and loved every inch of your
body.” He moved a step closer. “And I don’t ever
recall you accusing me of manhandling you.”

She closed her eyes as he brushed his
thumb over her lower lip.

“Don’t tell me you’re
going to deny it.”

She turned her head to the side,
breaking all physical contact with him. “Y-yes. I am. This
might come as a shock to you but I no longer want your caresses.”
She squared her shoulders. “I don’t want you to ever
touch me again.”

He raised a single brow. “Ever is
a long time, Samantha.”

“I don’t have to stand here
and listen to this.”

James followed her around the room as
she paced about uneasily. “Listen to what? The truth? You
wanted me just as badly as I wanted you.”

“Nonsense.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve
never known you to lie, Samantha.”

She stopped suddenly, held a level
gaze, and replied, “I never have.”

The doorbell chimed and both sets of
eyes shot in the direction of the front door. James started forward
but stopped when Samantha raised her hand and said, “It’s
for me.” She turned and left.

“Hi, Paul,” Samantha said
as she held the door open. She wore a smile that looked pasted on.

Paul leaned in and placed a kiss on her
cheek, then looked at his watch. “Sorry, I’m late. It
took me a while to find it.” He laughed as he looked around the
enormous foyer. “I’m not used to these fancy
neighborhoods with private driveways.”

Samantha touched the guy’s
shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.
Your timing is perfect. All I need to do is get my bag and I’ll
be ready.” She called over her shoulder as she left the room,
“I’ll be just a minute.”

James stood in the foyer sizing up the
man as Samantha went upstairs. Paul appeared to be around their age,
perhaps a little older. His hair was a deep brown and slightly
thinning at the top. He was wearing gray sweatpants, a white T-shirt,
and the athletic sneakers were spotless white. He stood about an inch
shorter than James and had a good, strong build.

“Hi, you must be James.”
Paul stepped forward and extended his hand in a friendly greeting.

“I must be.” James
instinctively reached out and shook the man’s hand. His stomach
turned not only at Paul’s wide smile but also at the way he
surveyed his home. Would throwing him out be too rude? What did he
care—after all, it was his house. He tossed the idea around for
a moment before deciding against it.

“Love the house,” Paul said
after looking at the wrought iron on the sweeping staircase.

James could care less what he loved.
“And who might you be?”

“I’m Paul.”

James puckered his lips in agitation.
He didn’t like him. And what was with that stupid smile? “Yes,
I heard your name.” He was way too chipper. What was Samantha
doing with this guy? He wasn’t her style.

Samantha came down the stairs quickly,
holding a gym bag. She raised it in the air. “Got it. I’m
ready.”

Paul moved in front of her and took her
by the shoulders when she came to stand by him. “Sammy, I
haven’t seen tension like this in you for a long time.”
He worked the muscles that stretched across her shoulders.

“I need this so desperately
tonight.”

“Relax,” Paul said softly
as his hands moved down her arms and then back up to her shoulders
and neck.

“That’s easier said than
done.” Samantha rolled her neck from side to side as Paul’s
fingers manipulated her muscles. “Oooh.”

Paul smiled at her heartfelt groan.
“It’s going to be torture, but we’ll have a good
time tonight.”

Did he just wink at her, James
wondered. If Paul touched her again James would throw him out, and he
would enjoy every minute of it. He felt a hint of satisfaction as he
pictured hurling the nuisance over the perfectly trimmed hedge by the
front door, past his mom’s roses, and into the driveway.