“Assembly line or plate-by-plate?” Aurora asked her now.
“You’re asking me?” Aurora never asked her opinion. “Uh, assembly line, I think, would be easiest.”
“That could work, I guess.” Aurora clearly preferred plate-by-plate, but she was being kind for some reason. “I’ll do the cake, you do the strawberries, then we can start at both ends slapping on the whipped cream. How’s that?”
“Sounds great.” She was touched by her mother’s gesture.
Aurora began laying the plates in rows on the counter.
“Supper was nice, huh?” Christine said.
“Except for the eggplant. It wasn’t seasoned right.”
She smiled. Marcus had added garlic to Aurora’s recipe and it had tasted wonderful, but Aurora would always be Aurora, even when she was making an effort to be kind.
“I meant the way everyone was enjoying each other after working together so hard. It reminds me of the good times here.”
“I didn’t know you had any.” Christine heard the sadness beneath her mother’s stab.
“I was a kid. Kids complain. The point is I see why you and Bogie stuck it out all these years. There are good things here.”
“So why are you painting and planting over it all?” she said, but she was smiling, and her eyes were lit with pleasure.
Feeling a surge of affection, Christine almost hugged her, except Aurora would go stiff and the moment would get awkward. Then a better thought hit her. “What about a party?”
“A party?” Her mother’s forehead creased. “Celebrating what?”
“You and Bogie getting better, finishing the facelift we’re giving Harmony House. We’ll do it on the Fourth of July. How’s that? We could make it an open house. Invite people from town.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of trouble to go to,” she said, but she was clearly pleased.
Together they carried the cream-topped strawberries to the dining room to cheers and applause. Christine told everyone about the party, her heart so full she couldn’t stop grinning. After supper, David joined Christine to do the dishes.
Delia helped David clear, then left the kitchen. “She seems nice,” Christine said.
David only shrugged.
“She designed some of the doors, didn’t she?”
“Mom.” He stopped washing and turned to her.
“Okay, none of my business. Sorry.” They worked in silence until she asked, “How are things going for you lately?” David rarely talked to her and continued to be sullen and moody.
“Fine.”
“Is that all you can say?” She sighed. He seemed so far away. Like he was on a raft and when she reached for him, the motion sent him sliding farther out to sea.
“I’m not playing Name Three Things, so don’t even try.” The rule used to be when she asked him about school he had to name three things that had happened or that he’d learned.
“You still talk with Marcus, right?” At least that.
“Mostly we play guitar.”
“And you sound good,” she said. “You’ve been practicing.” Another shrug.
She had a sudden idea. “Maybe you and Marcus should play at the open house.”
“Yeah?” He stopped washing and looked at her. She’d actually surprised him. “You mean like a gig? For pay?”
“Sure. For pay.” Why not?
“Okay. Yeah. That would be cool.”
“We’ll be having a lot more guests in the future. Maybe we could have a happy-hour thing on the weekends where you and Marcus could perform. Or you could solo.”
“And you’d pay me?”
“You’ll probably get tips, too.”
“Yeah. I’ll do it. I’ll tell Marcus. Thanks.” He nodded his head in that ostrich-bob way he had.
“I’m glad, then.”
I love you.
She was about to say it when David frowned at her.
“Don’t get all weird. Here.” He thrust the colander he’d been washing at her. “Rinse.”
The girl beamed, spun and hurried to her mother three rows over, holding out her prize. “I have a knack, Mommy,” she called. “Mr. Bogie says I have a knack.”
“Put it in the basket,” the mother said. An older son, probably thirteen, pulled plants a few rows over. He was working on a report about intentional living and his parents spoke fondly of their year at a commune in Michigan.
Catching sight of Christine, Bogie approached the fence. “What did the doctor say?” he asked.
“According to Aurora, clean bill of health. Though she wouldn’t let me go with her to the exam room. She insisted on driving home, too.”
“Now that’s good news, isn’t it?” Bogie said, beaming with relief. “You’re looking pretty healthy, too, these days.”
“Thank you.”
“I remember those tired eyes of yours when you came. Now they’re just shining bright.”
She smiled at him, warmed by his affection.
“So that settles it. We’ll be having those fireworks for the party. I don’t care what Aurora says. In honor of you both.”
“That’s sweet of you, Bogie.”
“It’s not sweet. It’s right.” He paused. “What do you say we enlarge the greenhouse this fall, make the aisles wider?”
“If that’s what you’d like to do…” Her stomach tightened. Already, Aurora was talking about things they would do “this fall” or “next winter,” and now Bogie was at it, too.
“Mr. Bogie? Check me, please?” the little girl called.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” Christine said, easing away. She didn’t want to disappoint Bogie, but she had to return to Phoenix. Things were getting…
complicated.
She headed for the house. A
baa
made her pat Ruby, her favorite goat. In the courtyard, she gently suggested two little boys ought not to chase the chickens or they wouldn’t have nice eggs in their omelets.
After supper that night, once she was sure that David was in town with friends, Christine headed to Marcus’s room, dying to be in his arms. It was ridiculous how she longed for these private hours with him. They were careful about the timing so they never risked David finding out. Marcus’s room’s location helped. It was near the far stairs, easy to slip up and down without being seen, and far from the owners’ quarters, where David stayed.
More than once she’d thought about tapering off, so that it would be easier when they parted ways in six weeks, but she couldn’t seem to even bring up the idea.
She knocked at his door, her heart in her throat, and Marcus welcomed her into his arms, his hair damp from the shower, smelling clean and sweet, and she was so glad to be with him again. She noticed soft music playing and saw a boom box on the bookshelf.
When Marcus released her, she noticed he’d cleared the papers from his desk. One of the commune’s beeswax candles glowed beside a jar of bright flowers and a bowl of fresh blackberries. Next to that was a bottle of red wine and two ceramic goblets.
“These are the ones I made,” she said, picking one up, admiring the even shape and graceful stem.
“Why do you think I chose them?”
“This is so lovely, Marcus.” She indicated the table, the music, the goblet in her hand.
“I’m glad you like it. I wish we could risk going out to Sammy’s or Toad Tavern, but here we’re close to a bed, and that’s crucial.” He held her gaze, hunger in his eyes. “Take off your clothes. I’m thinking dessert, then blackberries.”
Christine went weak in the knees. How she wanted this man.
Afterward, Christine rolled onto her side to look down at Marcus. “That was so great. I feel like we invented it.”
“Sex, you mean?” Marcus gave a low chuckle, and ran his finger along her cheek. “We are pretty good together.”
“Good? Are you kidding. We’re
amazing.
” They were, too. She’d never felt this physically delighted and satisfied and comfortable. Of course, that made her wonder about Marcus, so she had to ask.
“How were you with Elizabeth? Physically, I mean?”
“I’m not sure how useful that would be to discuss.”
“Screw useful. Just tell me. Or, okay, I’ll go first. Skip was good. He had the moves and all, though it kind of felt like a performance a lot. But it was never like it is with you, the way you hold me with your eyes the entire time, completely with me, together, you know? Totally in
tune.
”
“How could I not be?” he breathed, kissing her forehead. “I can’t take my eyes off you.”
She sighed. “That’s what I mean. You look at me that way and you say shit like that. I just…I don’t know…I feel so lucky.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I mean, you’re perfect.”
“Perfect?” He frowned. “I’m hardly perfect. We both know that. We’re in a unique situation here, with a limit on our time together, so that intensifies our reactions.”
“Maybe.” She knew emotions ran high when sex was new. This felt different, but she’d tricked herself in the past, seeing more than was there. She’d certainly done that with Skip.
“You’d get bored soon enough, Christine. Trust me. I get distant and preoccupied. I disengage. Just ask Elizabeth.”
“You think it was all your fault, right? That you let her down emotionally. Did you ever think that maybe she let you down?”
“Christine, I don’t think that’s—”
“I’m no marriage expert, of course. I mean with Skip, I think I fell in love with the idea of him. But you haven’t been distant at all with me or with David. You’ve been completely here, absolutely present.”
“I want to be. I want to be exactly what you need. But wanting is not being, so let’s not get carried away.”
He was probably right. Maybe she’d get bored with him and all his quiet restraint. Certainly, she would be too much for him. Too much emotion, too much intensity. Simply too much. Still, she couldn’t help wanting them both to be wrong.
David was nervous, she could tell, and her heart went out to him. She’d taken Marcus’s advice and given him space, stopped pushing him to talk to her, though it was against her instincts. Maybe Marcus knew best.
Marcus noticed her watching them and winked, which sent a sexual charge through her. She couldn’t wait for after the party when they would rehash what happened and make love.
She leaned on him more and more, sinking into his steadiness, the ready comfort of his arms. This was risky, she knew. She had to stay strong and independent, take care of herself and her son, not get lazy. Because things went wrong, people failed you. That’s just how it went. And afterward it took a while to pull up your big-girl panties and move on.
But here she was, hooked on Marcus. When she left and he went back to L.A., she’d end up with a huge hole in her heart for sure. So much for keeping it simple.
They began with Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” Marcus’s rich baritone beneath David’s tentative tenor, supporting, not overshadowing. David looked so handsome and grown up her heart ached with tenderness and pride.
When the song was over, everyone clapped and the Barlow twins whistled their approval. She’d hired them and some of their friends to pass appetizers and clean up.
When they stopped for a short break, Christine went up to David. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. She was dying to hug him, but she knew that would embarrass him. Already, he was glancing side to side to make sure no one saw him with her. “I’ll disappear, no worries,” she said, stepping back.
“Thanks for the gig,” he blurted, giving her a shot of his old sunny smile.
“You’re very welcome,” she said, her heart full. She’d been right to bring David here, she thought, hoping she wasn’t being excessively optimistic again.
On her way to the kitchen to check on the appetizers she ran into Aurora. “I swear to God if I hear ‘Michael, Row the Boat Ashore’ one more time I’ll explode,” she said.
Christine laughed. “Come on. You can’t even pretend not to love the way they sound.”
“David’s not bad,” Aurora admitted. “He seems pretty settled in around here. Not so moody and lazy.”
She noticed Marcus smiling at her from across the room, so she nodded in his direction.
“You and Doctor B. seem settled, too.”
Christine jolted, turning to stare at Aurora. “What?”
“Come on, the man turns three shades of pink when you walk into a room. And look at how jumpy you are this minute.”
“That’s not—I mean I—” She went hot all over. How embarrassing that Aurora had noticed.
“Relax, I won’t tell anyone.”
“We’re spending time together, but that’s all.”
“You’re settled in…like I said. Both of you.” Her mother looked straight at her, digging in with her brown eyes, more direct than she ever looked, except when she was furious.
Now Aurora wanted
Marcus
to stay, too? This was bizarre. For all the ease with which Aurora had let her run away, she sure as hell was holding on tight now.
And there was no need anymore. Her mother was back to her usual feisty self, with a clean bill of health. The clay works was doing fine at its higher productivity. Harmony House looked great and any glitches due to the higher occupancy rate would be settled long before it was time for Christine and David to leave. And they had to leave. David had school and she had a job.
“Everything’s shaping up,” she said, avoiding the issue. “I need to check on the food.” She hurried away.
As she walked, her eye was caught by the gleam of the freshly polished wooden floors. The parlor walls were now burgundy with goldenrod trim, dramatic and warm at once. The common areas all looked historic and cared for instead of ancient and neglected.
The kitchen was full of people, which pleased her, and kids were carrying out full trays of snacks showcasing the commune’s food—goat cheese puffs, hummus, honey-crusted tofu.
She’d had the tattered 60s posters patched and framed, along with the commune rules, and she’d made the task chart into a white board with erasable markers.
Everyone sharing and caring.
A noble goal. Now that Harmony House had fresh paint, some order, water pressure, and serious Internet access, it seemed more possible than ever.