Heart's Desire (36 page)

Chapter Seventy-four

FOR A MOMENT I STARE AT THE TALL HANDSOME YOUNG MAN SILHOUETTED in the doorway, his broad shoulders outlined by a yellow T-shirt, and it feels as if I’m staring into a mirage.

“Craig?”
I call out. “What are
you
doing here?”

He smiles at me, that familiar half smile I know so well. “I leave for Minnesota in the morning. All the guys are going up early to put an addition onto the frat house. And then lacrosse practice starts Tuesday. Just thought I’d drop in and say good-bye.”

“At midnight?”

“Since when did
you
start going to bed early?” he jokes.

Only I have a feeling this is more than a coincidence. “One of them called you.” The music suddenly switches to Rostropovich playing Schumann on the cello, the CD that Bernard keeps on his dresser in the bedroom. “Bernard!” I say.

“Yup.”

I chuckle at the thought of Bernard trying to put his proposition as delicately as possible. “And what did he
say
exactly? That Hallie the black widow spider just chased another perfectly good date away?”

“Nooo, not exactly,” says Craig.

One thing is for sure, Bernard and I are going to have a little review of the chain of command when it comes to organizing my love life. On the other hand, I have to give him credit—even though he doesn’t like the idea of me going all the way, at least he’s decided to take charge of quality control.

“Uh, can I come in?” asks Craig.

“Sorry, sure.” I open the door the rest of the way. “I thought you were out with Megan.”

“Megan? Yeah, she was at the pizza parlor. But I’ve known Megan since nursery school. And she’s leaving for Wellesley in a few days.”

“Oh. Gwen said that Megan wants to date you.”

Craig shakes his head to indicate that whether this may or may not be the case, it’s not going to happen. “Speaking of dates, where’s your boyfriend with the love machine?”

“Gone fishing.” I turn away and stare out into the darkness. “Craig, do you get nervous when you’re about to, you know, make love to a woman?” I ask.

“A little,” he says.

But I’m guessing that he’s lying to make me feel better.

“I mean, a guy hopes that everything works okay,” he continues. “And you want to sort of impress a girl. You worry about what she thinks.”

We sit down on the daybed together and he reaches his arm around me. Only it feels like old friends. “Remember when we tried to sleep in my bed together after the prom?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “That was pretty funny. But it was nice. I think about that night a lot. I mean, the whole thing—the dance, watching the sunrise, the party afterward, Gil directing traffic with flares and wearing a Day-Glo orange rain suit so he wouldn’t get run over. Bernard’s
huevos rancheros
and
vaya con Dios
tomato juice. He must have used an entire case of Tabasco sauce!”

We both laugh at the memory of it all, but something in his tone makes me feel very tender toward him and I snuggle in a bit closer.

“It sure seems as if life was a lot simpler back then,” he says.

“It was definitely less expensive,” I joke. And we laugh just a little, like an old couple that finds humor in something not necessarily because it’s funny so much as because we remember doing it together.

With his fingertips he traces the lines of my palm and I suddenly feel wide-awake. Craig leans over me and his breath is sweet and familiar as he kisses me in that gentle yet thrilling way. The kiss grows and blossoms like one of Bernard’s musical overtures. We melt into each other’s lips for a long time, until everything within me is alive and stirring. Only this time I’m not crippled by apprehension. Yes, he’s leaving the next day. But I’ve recently learned that there are moments when questioning the future too much can ruin the present.

“I miss you,” he whispers, and runs his hand underneath my shirt and around my waist.

“Mmmm.” I kiss him in return and place my hand on the front of his jeans. I remember back to the first time I touched him there and how unsure I was. And now I’m very sure. I start to take off my shirt, but he stops me.

“No, let me,” he says. He delicately removes my clothes as if they’re petals on a flower and then runs his hands over my hips and across my stomach. “You’ve gotten sexier,” he says. “Less halfback and more Helen of Troy.”

“It’s my first time,” I say, remembering Olivia’s warning.

“I’ll go slow,” he says. “And if it hurts or you change your mind, then we’ll stop.”

“We should use something,” I say.

“We will. But relax and let me worry about that.”

He kisses me again, this time on the neck and shoulders, and we touch, making a detailed inventory of each other’s bodies and the multiple possibilities for pleasure. And I suddenly feel certain that I really do want more. For a moment it seems as if our passion is an insatiable thirst.

Craig leans over and moves up and down so that we’re almost having sex but he’s not quite inside of me. Then he jumps up, grabs his jeans, and produces a condom with the deftness of a magician. Within seconds he’s back on top of me and our hearts beat hungrily right up against each other.

We kiss and he moves his hips so they’re above mine. “Okay, now tell me if it hurts,” he says.

I can feel him start to sink inside me and it’s strange, like nothing I’ve ever experienced. “It’s all right.”

Only suddenly it feels as if he’s hit a fence. “Wait!” I say, and take a deep breath. “Okay, go.” Only I sound more like the starter for the hundred-yard dash.

There’s a sharp pain and for a second it seems as if all the clocks in the world have stopped. But just as suddenly it’s over and he’s deep within me. Oh my gosh. I did it. We lie like that, not moving for a moment, and kiss. Then I start to giggle.

“What?” he says.

“We’re having sex,” I say. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

“Yeah, it’s hilarious,” he says. “Why don’t we call some people?”

Then he starts to move up and down slightly.

“Whoa,” I yelp.

“You want to stop?”

“No. It’s just really, really different, you know?”

“I’m coming,” he says, and makes one final thrust.

But I don’t feel anything different happening as he scrunches up his face and then pulls out. Craig flops down next to me and exhales deeply.

“The next time will be really nice for you,” he assures me. “I promise.”

And I can’t help but wonder if he means the next time in general, or the next time with him.

Craig gently runs his fingertips across my midsection. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and removes the condom. Afterward we crawl under the covers and get close like ribs in corduroy and whisper and giggle. The music went off at some point and all that can be heard is the occasional breeze shuffling the leaves and the tap of a tree branch against the window.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Okay,” I say.

“Do you want to, you know, come?” he asks.

“No, that’s all right.”

“You’re funny.” He hugs me tight.

“Why’s that?”

“Because when you have all your clothes on you’re such a loud-mouth. But when you’re naked you get all shy.”

I start to defend myself but Craig puts his lips over my mouth and kisses me. Then he runs his hand up my thigh and gently moves his finger back and forth inside of me. For a moment it’s as if he’s touching the center of my longing. A sharp intake of air. And suddenly a sense of release and surrender courses through my entire body, as if sinking into a hot bath. We lie quietly for a moment so that our breathing seems to fill the room.

After a while I turn to him and whisper, “I’m glad that you stopped by.”

“Me too,” says Craig. His voice is a soft passionate breath, more like his soul talking. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

I think about what that means exactly, specifically the word
happens.
Does he mean if we meet and marry other people? Or if one of us should die in a horrible car crash? Eventually I decide it’s probably the way you tell your parents and other relatives that you love them because you’re bound to them by countless invisible threads.

“I love you too,” I say. But he’s asleep.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily for me. The candles have burned out and the room is dark except for strands of silver moonlight that spill across the wooden floorboards. Through the windows the flowers look like brightly colored birds that have settled down to sleep in the grass, safe in the palm of night. And up above, the stars form a great fresco across the ceiling of the universe.

An occasional involuntary tremble rushes through me as I think back on what just happened, which is more like a scene out of a dream. For a long while I lie awake enjoying the sweet taste left by his kisses, until the slow-moving moon passes my window on its way up to the heavens and I feel myself drifting into Craig’s breathing and the soft thump of his heartbeat. Something unseen and beautiful came from his soul into mine, where he took my secret and then he gave me his in return. And I finally feel quieted, as if freezing cold water has been poured over a raging fever.

Chapter Seventy-five

I AWAKE IN A SOFT HALO OF GOLDEN LIGHT AND CRAIG IS STILL asleep next to me, with his mouth slightly open and his rumpled butterscotch hair all shimmery against the white pillowcase. It’s one of those late-summer mornings where the early sky glows in a cathedral of anticipation.

Walking across the damp grass in my bare feet I feel like a diver coming up from the deep ocean, having to readjust to the level of oxygen in the air and practice breathing. Bernard’s tiger lilies are in full bloom and droplets of water roll across the curved leaves like beads of mercury. Wet blades of grass are stuck in the wings of Olivia’s cupid statue so that he appears to be part Chia pet. However I give him a thumbs-up for a job well done.

Gil, Olivia, and Ottavio are seated around the dining room table having breakfast, while Bernard rushes to and from the kitchen.

As my eyes adjust to the dimness of the indoors I realize there’s an extra body at the table. And because I’m still in another world it takes a nanosecond to place her.

“Mom!” I practically shout as I enter the dining room. “Oh my God, what are
you
doing here?”

My mother looks puzzled by my reaction, since she regularly pops in to say hello, even more so since the girls arrived.

“I’ve come to visit my oldest daughter. And these darling children, of course.” The little girls reach out their arms to her like kittens chasing a ball of yarn. They must be able to sense the diaper-changing gene in her DNA helix.

Gigi is perched on Mom’s lap slurping up spoonfuls of yogurt while Rose sits in her highchair being fed by Rocky. Though he was trained to assist paraplegics, there seems to be a certain amount of crossover with young children. Whereas Gigi is a little bit afraid of Rocky, Rose acts as if he’s the best nanny in the world. It’s going to be a miracle if the two of them don’t end up living in the top of a tree together. After Rocky finishes feeding Rose he takes off, I assume to get ready for church, since it’s Sunday. His former owner may have been an alcoholic, but she was a regular churchgoer. And as soon as Rocky hears those bells on Sunday morning he hops to it. Or as Bernard likes to say, turns into Pavlov’s chimp.

“Actually, I do have some news this morning,” my mother tells me. “I went to the doctor yesterday, and we’re having twins!”

Apparently she told everyone else before I arrived because they’ve already absorbed the information and look to me for a reaction. “Oh my gosh.” I do a quick calculation. “Ten kids and two parents—you’ll have enough for a sweatshop!” Financial problems solved!

“Two babies are better than one,” says Bernard, beaming at the little girls.

“Right. I meant, ‘Congratulations.’ ” But I feel as if I’m floating in a distant place where time touches eternity and that if I were to drop a china bowl right now it wouldn’t make a noise when it shattered. Suddenly I see and hear people talking but am unable to make out exactly what is being said. They all sound very far away, as if they’re calling into a thick fog.

A knock at the front door brings me back to earth. Especially when I turn and see Craig’s parents on the opposite side of the screen door. “Mr. and Mrs. Larkin. What are
you
doing here? I mean, please come in.”

“We were worried about Craig,” his mother explains as they enter the dining room. “He didn’t come home last night.”

“And his car is in your driveway,” says Mr. Larkin. “So I assume he spent the night here and everything is all right.”

Haven’t they ever heard of
phones
? I guess this is what Craig means about the extra pressure of being an only child. Your folks hunt you down in person like a posse, even when you’re almost twenty.

However, my mother also appears concerned. Any report of a missing child can’t fail to snag her sympathy and interest, even if said “child” is approaching middle age.

“Craig fell asleep here,” I explain, well aware that my mother is taking an interest in the conversation. “We were working on . . . actually,
he
was working on . . . well, the pond.”

Gil and Bernard both give me an
Oh really
look, which, if they were somewhat younger, could be translated to:
liar, liar, pants on
fire.

Fortunately it’s at this moment that the “missing child” strolls in. And I’m relieved to see that he had the good sense to put on his jeans, T-shirt, and shoes. Even though he looks like the same old Craig, it’s as if I’m seeing a completely different person. I mean, we slept together! This makes me suddenly worry that everyone in the room is also going to be able to tell that something has changed between us, and so I quickly look away from him.

Bernard of course can’t get to the stereo fast enough to put on “Hello Young Lovers” from
The King and I,
but everyone else is too preoccupied to notice that anything has changed between us. Olivia starts telling Craig’s parents how wonderfully creative the new pond is. It shouldn’t take her more than a few minutes to gracefully segue into her position on US government sanctions against Cuba.

Gil goes to the front hall and digs out the leaf for the dining room table. Ottavio runs around pouring coffee and tea for everyone. And Bernard heads back into the kitchen, where he’s firing up eggs and waffles and only the bread machine knows what else. He continues his mischievousness by putting a big bowl of fresh strawberries in front of my place at the table.

“Thank you, Puppetmaster,” I say, and pick up a fork. Suddenly I’m starving. I know that smoking pot gives you the munchies but I’d never heard the same thing said about sex.

The Larkins haven’t been inside the house before and it’s easy to see by the way they glance around and nudge each other that they’re surprised by some of the more elaborate furnishings. “What a beautiful highboy!” exclaims Mrs. Larkin.

“
Virgin
spruce.” Bernard gives me a covert wink.

Olivia shoots him a look.

“I thought it was
fruit
wood,” I say with mock surprise.

Bernard ignores us both. He goes over to Rose, who is now bouncing in Ottavio’s lap and says, “Who wants Lillian Russell?” The faces of both Gigi and Rose break into big smiles. Then from behind his back Bernard produces a plate of two half cantaloupes filled with vanilla ice cream placed side by side—a culinary tribute to the voluptuous stage star of the early twentieth century.

Mr. and Mrs. Larkin glance at each other as if they’re not sure whether to call a photographer to capture the happiest little girls in Cosgrove County, or else phone Social Services for using breakfast as a lesson in female anatomy.

Meantime Craig takes the seat next to me, and having forgotten to get a clean glass from the kitchen, he casually picks up mine, finishes my orange juice, and then refills it from the pitcher in the middle of the table. Everyone else is too busy talking to notice, but I do, and he notices that I notice. We give each other a secret smile acknowledging that we have recently been
that close,
and are thereby authorized to share germs.

The next person to knock on the door is Officer Rich. He lumbers into the room. “Hiya, folks, mind if I join you?”

Now, what is
he
doing here? I happen to know that I can’t get arrested for having sex, at least so long as I didn’t charge for it. But
what
is going on? A post-virginity party? It reminds me of the first day I went to school with my period—feeling as if everybody in the entire world could tell that something was different.

However, Bernard seems to be the only one attuned to my anxiety. He holds up a big pitcher of tomato juice with a celery stalk in it and asks, “Does anyone care for a
virgin Bloody Mary
?” Only he’s looking right at me as he says the words.

Gil returns from the hall closet with
another
leaf for the table. “The more the merrier!”

Ottavio lifts Rose onto Olivia’s lap and goes into the kitchen for
another
mug of coffee, though he’s obviously delighted at the prospect of an impromptu brunch party. Ottavio is happiest when there’s a mob of people sitting around a table with lots of good food. I sneak into the living room and begin playing “They Say It’s Wonderful” from the Ethel Merman disco album. Bernard is the only one who notices the change in background music. He’s so startled by Ethel’s sudden burst of vibrato that he accidentally drops the teakettle into the sink, and this gives me some measure of revenge for his smugness and double entendres.

“Did you expect me to take all your crap
lying down,
” I whisper as Bernard hurtles past me toward the stereo.

Sliding his sizable bulk into the last empty seat, Officer Rich takes a swig of coffee and beams at all of us. “Well, Hallie,” he announces, “it would appear that you’ve solved my pothole problem.”