Future Perfect (16 page)

Alicia knew it hadn’t been from lack of determination or will, because the child had plenty of those. She wanted to read so badly she made herself physically sick. That was when the specialists all came to the same sad conclusion. Juliana’s dyslexia was so severe, they’d said,
she’d probably never learn to read. She’d make better use of her time, they told her, by learning how to get around the written word.

And that’s exactly what Juliana and Alicia did. With the use of audio tapes and telephone answering machines, they set up a system of communication and learning that worked quite well. Alicia read her favorite books into a tape recorder until her voice was hoarse. Then she got her friends and
their
friends to do the same. She took Juliana on trips, brought her face to face with historical places and natural wonders that other children only read about in books.

Juliana’s dyslexia only affected the way her brain processed letters. She could read numbers most of the time, provided they were clearly displayed. And the girl was an absolute whiz at math.

But many times over the past twelve years, Alicia would read about some new method researchers were using to teach dyslexics, and off Juliana would go, the sacrificial guinea pig. The last time had been over five years ago, at that foolish boy Dennis’s request. Because her fiancé had wanted her to, Juliana had gone twice a week to a Harvard laboratory where she and fourteen seven-year-olds worked with some of the country’s leading special education teachers.

When Juliana broke off her engagement to Dennis, she dropped out of the program and told Alicia that she was through wasting her time trying to learn to read.

“I guess you’ll just have to make it clear to Webster how you feel,” Alicia said calmly.

“But if he really wants me to try again,” Juliana said slowly, “and I don’t, then he’ll think …”

“That you don’t love him?” Alicia finished for her. Juliana blushed.

“He probably knows that you love him by now,” Alicia said, “unless, of course, that’s another thing you haven’t bothered to tell him …?”

“Um,” Juliana said.

Alicia laughed, shaking her head. “Good Lord, I can remember being young and foolish, too. Well, I guess you’ve got to do it your own way. Lord knows
I
did.”

Juliana swept into the front parlor, the perfect Victorian hostess. Her hair was piled on top of her head, off her smooth, creamy shoulders. She was wearing the blue evening gown with the low neckline that revealed the tops of her full breasts. Breasts that Webster had caressed, kissed, tasted.…

Web crossed his legs, suddenly glad that he was sitting down.

She moved further into the room, and he watched her greet each couple, holding out her hand, smiling, calling them by name. She was perfect, exactly what he’d expect a beautiful but very proper Victorian lady to be. Slightly aloof, with a hint of holier-than-thou thrown in for good measure. He smiled at a sudden, very vivid memory of her naked body gleaming in the firelight, her eyes sparkling as she smiled up at him and touched him most intimately.

God almighty, it had only been two nights since she’d shared his bed, since they’d made love, and he was damn near tied in knots with frustration. Only two nights, and he was ready to scream. And if he couldn’t handle only two nights, there was no way on God’s earth he was
going to pack up his things and go back to Boston when his six weeks were up.

He’d thought about it endlessly during the past two sleepless nights—when he wasn’t thinking about Juliana’s long legs or the look of pleasure in her eyes when he touched her a certain way.

He’d finally told her he loved her. He’d finally made the words come out of his mouth. And he wrote her that note so she’d understand the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. And as he put it all down on paper, he realized he was doing more than explaining how he felt to Juliana. He was also clarifying his feelings in his own mind.

He didn’t believe in love, yet he’d gone and proven himself wrong. He’d been skeptical at first, but he loved her. He really, truly loved this woman. And he wanted to be with her.

He wanted to marry her.

Except he didn’t believe in marriage. Happily ever after was only the way fairy tales ended. It simply didn’t apply to real life.

He’d seen enough of his friends’ marriages break up after five or six years—some in even shorter time. And he’d seen enough of his parents’ friends, married for twenty-five, thirty years, apathetically plodding through life, attached to their spouses with an air of resigned indifference.

No, he didn’t believe in marriage.

But he still wanted to marry Juliana.

He wanted to try.

He wanted to prove himself wrong again.

She was walking toward him, now, her hand outstretched, smiling politely, her eyes distant.

Webster got to his feet to take her hand, raising her fingers lightly to his lips. As his mouth brushed her warm skin, he saw her eyes spark, and he smiled.

“Good evening, Mr. Donovan,” she said.

He inclined his head slightly. “Miss Anderson,” he murmured, and as she looked one more time into his eyes, he knew that
she
knew he wanted desperately to tear her clothes off and make mad, passionate love to her.

“Shall we go into the dining room?” Juliana said. “Mr. Donovan, if you would act as my escort this evening …?”

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and he covered it with his big fingers. They hung back as the guests began filing out.

“You know this is killing me,” he murmured. He pulled her closer to his side, so that their legs were pressed together, so that her breast brushed against his arm. “Absolutely killing me.”

Juliana smiled at him in her most Victorian fashion, but as soon as the last of the guests had left the room, she turned and kissed him fiercely. His hands pulled her against him, and she could feel his erection, even through all their layers of clothing.

“I have an idea,” he said, kissing her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes. “Tonight, after everyone’s asleep, we can sneak out of the house and drive over to Stockbridge and get a room at a motel.”

Juliana laughed. “Webster, that’s brilliant, but I can’t just leave. What if something happens? What if someone needs me?”

“I need you,” he said, his voice husky.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really am.” She kissed him
again, gently this time. “Take me in to dinner please, Mr. Donovan.”

Webster sat on Juliana’s right at the dinner table. He was a hit, as always, with his charming manner and his flair for starting conversations that were more than mere small talk. But every time he looked at her, his eyes gave her a clear message.

He wanted her. And even if they stood up and went upstairs right this second, it wouldn’t be soon enough for him.

“How’s the writing coming, Mr. Donovan?” Alicia asked from the other end of the table.

“Very well, actually,” he said. He turned to look at Juliana, his eyes lingering on her face. “As a matter of fact, I’m estimating I’ll finish my first draft before next weekend.”

“Oh, that’s
great
,” Juliana enthused, just barely catching herself before she called him Webster. “I mean, that’s
wonderful
, Mr. Donovan.”

As she looked up at him and saw the pride and pleasure lighting his handsome face she wished desperately that there was some way they could find some time to be alone.

Juliana lay awake in her bed, thinking about Webster Donovan.

She could still feel his lingering kiss good night. She could still feel his arms around her, pulling her close. She could still hear his voice, whispering her name. She could still feel the fire he could ignite deep inside her with just one word, just one look.

Turning over, she looked at the clock. The digital
numbers read 1:57. Damn. She had to get up in less than four hours. Double damn.

How weak could her body be, she wondered. She’d spent, what? Three days, three nights with Webster? How could her body have gotten so used to him so quickly that now that she wasn’t with him, she couldn’t sleep?

Sex sure was a funny thing
, she thought, adjusting her pillow, trying to get comfortable. Five years of celibacy, and she’d been fine. No problem. Well, hardly any problem. Then, whammo, Webster comes along and suddenly she was unable to sleep.

No fair.

Alicia looked up from washing the dishes as Webster came into the kitchen.

He looked like hell.

His hair was standing straight up, as if he’d spent the entire night running his hands through it in frustration. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he hadn’t shaved. He wore his old, torn sweat pants and a faded T-shirt that had definitely seen better days.

“You missed breakfast,” Alicia said.

“No kidding,” he muttered, taking a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee. He took a sip, then grabbed a dish towel from the pantry door and started drying the dishes in the rack. “I actually managed to fall asleep at quarter after five this morning. Mind if I forage?”

“Help yourself,” she said, taking the towel out of his hands. “I’ll do that. You’re a guest, remember? For now, anyway,” she added.

He squinted at her suspiciously. “If that’s a snide remark, I’m way too tired to understand it.”

Alicia laughed. “Sit down, I’ll make you breakfast.”

He brought his coffee over to the kitchen table, lowering himself into one of the chairs as he grumbled, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to break any house rules.”

“Shoot,” Alicia said, hands on her hips. “
You’re
in a bear of a mood this morning.”

Webster folded his arms on the table, then rested his head on them. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’m exhausted.”

“You should’ve stayed in bed.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah, well, I woke up,” he said. “I started thinking about Juliana, and it was all over. No more sleep. I figure eventually I’ll just fall into a coma. Hopefully it’ll be
after
I finish the book.”

“Eggs?” Alicia asked.

He shook his head no. “You know what I’d love,” he said.

“No, what?”

Webster lowered his voice, looking around the kitchen conspiratorially. “Don’t tell Juliana, but … I’d really love something simple, like a bowl of Cheerios or Corn Flakes.”

“You got it,” Alicia said, taking a cereal bowl from the cupboard and putting it on the table in front of him. She took a pitcher of milk from the refrigerator and pulled a whole collection of boxed cereal from the pantry. “Help yourself.”

Webster poured Cheerios into his bowl, then added the milk and began to eat as Alicia finished drying the dishes. She poured herself a cup of coffee then and sat across from him at the table.

“So when are you going to ask her?” she said.

Webster stared blankly at her. “What?”

Alicia smiled patiently. “When are you planning to ask Juliana to marry you?”

His expression didn’t change.

“You
are
planning to ask her, aren’t you?”

He blinked. “Well, yeah, but how did you—”

“You don’t believe I’d allow such carryings-on in my house if I didn’t think you two were going to get married now, do you?”

He laughed. “Well, no, I guess—”

“I have the perfect ring,” she said. “Unless you’ve already picked one out?”

He shook his head. “No, actually I was planning to go to the jewelers in Stockbridge tomorrow, but I don’t even know her ring size or—”

Alicia knocked on the table, interrupting him. “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”

She swept out of the room, but came back only a few moments later. She put a faded velvet ring box on the table in front of Webster. “Go on,” she urged him. “Open it up.”

Slowly he picked it up and sprang the release. It was an emerald in a simple setting, with a small, twinkling diamond on either side of it. The band was gold. “It’s beautiful,” Webster said, looking up at Alicia.

She nodded. “Juliana’s always loved this ring. She doesn’t know it, but it was mine. It was my engagement ring.”

“What happened?” Webster asked softly.

Alicia laughed, and only years of wisdom and acceptance kept her laugh from sounding bitter. “World War Two happened,” she said. “You see, I met Jack in London.
He wanted to marry me the day after we met, but heck, I was only twenty-two years old. I was crazy about him, but marriage?” She sighed. “I returned to the States, and we corresponded for years. He finally convinced me to come back to London. I was there when Hitler invaded Poland, and the entire world hit the proverbial fan. Jack gave me this ring, asked me to marry him, then joined the Royal Air Force. We had two days together before he shipped out for training. He died in a bombing raid over Dresden, at the end of the war.”

Webster didn’t say a word. Somehow “I’m sorry” seemed so inadequate.

“Jack loved me the way you love my niece,” Alicia said. “It’s only fitting you give her this ring.”

He nodded his head slightly, meeting her eyes. “Thank you, Alicia,” he said, adding, “Next Sunday. I’m going to ask her as soon as the guests are gone.”

Sunday afternoon, Webster realized he was the only one in the house. The guests were all out, not due back until dinner time, Juliana had told him. And Alicia was visiting a friend. Juliana was working out in the garden, planting bulbs in the cold ground and raking leaves.

Ready for a break, he pulled on his jacket, about to join her outside, when he heard her footsteps coming up the stairs. He went out on the landing, only to see the door to her apartment close behind her.

He went up the stairs and knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. He
knew
she was in there, so he knocked harder.

Deep within the walls of the house, the pipes groaned and banged slightly as water went through them. Juliana had turned on her shower. No wonder she didn’t hear him knocking.

In one great, aching flash of desire, he could suddenly picture her standing under the stream of water, rubbing soap over her naked body.

Webster pressed his forehead against the smooth wood of the door, wanting her so badly he nearly shook. He tried the knob, but it was locked, as he expected.