They continued to watch television, munch pumpkin seeds, and share door duties, alternating unless a particularly adorable visitor needed to be seen by both. That happened more than once, and by eight thirty, the street had pretty much cleared of trick-or-treaters.
“Let’s give it a little more time,” Courtney suggested after pulling her head back in from a glance outside. “There might be a few more.”
Rachel loved the childlike exuberance that Courtney seemed to have for the holiday, found it refreshing. She lifted her arm as Courtney joined her on the couch and cuddled close, her head against Rachel’s shoulder. They continued to watch
Scream
on the television.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” Courtney said, poking Rachel in the ribs. “It’s classic horror, but with intelligent writing.”
“I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“Well, now you do.”
Rachel looked sheepish. “I can’t watch scary movies by myself.”
Courtney grinned. “I’ll protect you.”
Rachel hesitated for a split second before asking, “Did Theresa like scary movies?”
Faltering for only a brief moment, Courtney replied evenly, “Not really.”
“What kind of movies did she like?”
“Romantic comedies, mostly.”
“I like those, too.” Rachel turned to look at Courtney, who was suddenly very focused on the TV screen. She felt intrusive, asking about Theresa; it made her uncomfortable, like she was prying.
So much for that idea.
She was disappointed with her own reluctance to push a little harder, but Courtney all of a sudden seemed…vulnerable. Rachel wanted nothing more than to shelter her from whatever Big Bad might come at her in life.
Courtney cleared her throat and they both tried to focus on the movie.
Neve Campbell was sprinting through her house, trying to escape the knife-wielding, black-robed, masked figure determined to kill her. She ran into her bedroom, slammed the door shut, and then opened the nearby closet door. When the killer tried to thrust through the bedroom door, the knob from the closet door locked against the edge of the bedroom door and the killer couldn’t get it open enough to enter.
Courtney giggled with glee. “I
love
that! I think it’s so creative. I wonder if the guy who wrote this movie had his own bedroom set up like that. How else do you come up with those logistics?” She glanced up at Rachel, who was still looking at her.
“What?” Courtney asked, her voice cracking.
Rachel said nothing. Instead, she cupped Courtney’s chin and tilted her face up so their lips could meet. The kiss began as soft, sweet, and gentle, but within minutes became much, much more. Deep. Thorough. Demanding. They sank into each other, the sounds and smells around them fading away. After a short span of time—and not quite sure how she got there—Courtney found herself on her back on the couch, Rachel’s body covering hers, Rachel’s tongue in her mouth, Rachel’s hand under her shirt and caressing her breast through her bra with such determined precision that Courtney felt a rush of wetness between her legs. Eventually, she managed to wrench her mouth away long enough to mutter, “Bed. Raich? I have a bed.”
“Maybe we should use it,” Rachel husked back at her. “Yes?”
“Absolutely.”
They untangled themselves from each other. Rachel clicked off the television while Courtney stepped outside and peeked up and down the street one more time, noting no movement other than a stray tiger cat slinking across the street. She hit the light switch for the porch, plunging it into darkness, and then locked the front door. She turned and jumped to find Rachel right behind her.
The thump of her back hitting the door reverberated through the quiet living room and forced a gasp from Courtney’s lungs just before Rachel’s mouth crashed down onto hers. Rachel had several inches on her height-wise, and Courtney suddenly found herself thinking what an unfamiliar feeling it was to have to crane her neck up to kiss somebody. Theresa had been smaller than her and Courtney had to hunch forward a bit to kiss her. Rachel’s hands were much larger than Theresa’s, too; she could feel their warmth on her waist, when Rachel grasped her shirt and pulled it up and off. Rachel’s voice cut through her thoughts.
“God,” she murmured against Courtney’s lips. “My God, you feel good.” Rachel slid her hands up the silky soft skin of Courtney’s torso and cupped a breast in each hand, kneading them through the cotton of her bra, feeling the nipples pushing against the fabric as she imprisoned Courtney between the door and her own body.
Courtney had a quick flash of her dream, but shook it away, not wanting the urgency of this moment to end.
Bed.
Combined with the heat of desire bubbling in her core, Courtney abruptly felt the burning need to get Rachel to the bedroom, to a place where they were once again horizontal and the differences between Rachel and Theresa wouldn’t be so obvious to her. Maybe that would help to tamp down some of the guilt that was springing forth…would quiet the mantra in the back of her mind that was whispering in a singsong, “cheater, cheater, cheater,” the voice frighteningly similar to Theresa’s.
It wasn’t easy, but Courtney managed to free herself from Rachel’s grip, ducking under one arm. “Come on,” she said and hardly recognized her own gravelly voice. She took Rachel’s hand and led her up the stairs to the bedroom. Once there, she barely had time to turn before Rachel was on her again, Rachel’s tongue blazing a fiery trail up the side of Courtney’s neck. Courtney tried her hardest to lose herself in the feeling, to drown out the distractions by focusing on the physical, to not hear Theresa directing Rachel on where to touch her and how. It wasn’t easy. Theresa’s face kept appearing, unbidden, in her mind. If she opened her eyes, she saw Rachel—beautiful, flushed, in control, and so
not
Theresa. If she closed her eyes, she saw Theresa, felt Theresa touching her, kissing her, heard Theresa’s voice whispering in her ear.
“You’re mine…”
Focus, damn it,
she told herself, wanting to push Theresa out of her head, but unable or unwilling to do so and feeling guilty for both things. Her jeans were unfastened and her bra was off and Rachel was lowering her mouth to one erect nipple as her fingers slipped beneath denim.
Concentrate. Concen—oh, my God…
An electric jolt of pleasure went searing through Courtney’s body and a groan she barely recognized as her own was pulled from her lungs. God, it felt good. Everything Rachel was doing to her felt so good, so incredibly sensual. If she just kept her eyes closed…just kept them closed, maybe she could pretend…
Rachel’s teeth raked lightly across Courtney’s hardened nipple in her mouth and Courtney gasped at the sensation. She was wet beneath Rachel’s fingers, soaked and hot, and each time Rachel moved them, Courtney hummed. Her head back, her eyes closed, she let her body take over and tried not to worry as Rachel kissed her again, slowly, teasingly, using her tongue to give Courtney an idea of what was to come. After several long, luxurious minutes, Rachel pulled slowly away, working down Courtney’s neck again. It all felt so good, so…indescribably delicious. Courtney arched up just a little, her head pushing back into the pillow, her eyes still squeezed shut.
“Courtney.” Rachel sounded hoarse.
“Hmm?” Courtney hummed dreamily, not opening her eyes. Her fingers moved lightly through Rachel’s hair.
“Courtney,” Rachel said, a bit more firmly this time. “Courtney, look at me.”
Courtney opened her eyes, lifted her head to look at Rachel, and felt a split-second jolt. It was very slight, small, and Courtney did a masterful job of covering, but not masterful enough. It zipped across her brain like a flash of lightning, and she recovered almost as quickly, but she could tell by her expression that Rachel had seen it.
Surprise.
Wetting her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, Rachel pushed herself up on an elbow and withdrew her fingers from inside Courtney’s panties. “We don’t have to do this. Maybe it’s not such a good idea?”
A million thoughts raced through Courtney’s head, a million different reasons, a million different false explanations, but she knew deep down that Rachel had seen through her, that Rachel knew what—or more accurately who—Courtney had been thinking about. A phony excuse at this point would just make her even more pathetic.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she had to offer.
“It’s okay,” Rachel said. She reached over Courtney’s body and pulled the knitted afghan from the foot of the bed. She covered Courtney’s naked torso with it, tucking it around her like she would a child. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“You didn’t. You didn’t push, Rachel. I…” Being at a total loss wasn’t something Courtney was used to and she hated it. “I’m sorry,” she said again in defeat.
“Don’t be.” Rachel stood up and tucked in her shirt, her demeanor completely changed.
“You don’t have to go.” Courtney braced herself up on her elbows, her legs still dangling off the side of the bed. There was a sad note of begging in her tone that caused her great annoyance and she fought to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, I think it would be better if I did.”
Rachel wanted to run, to sprint far away from this situation. Courtney could see it on her face. And she almost did beg then. Almost. “Okay.” Her voice was small, resigned, and sad.
Rachel stepped close, kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay,” Courtney said again, this time in barely a whisper. She managed to hold the tears in check until she heard the front door click closed. “Damn you, Theresa,” she whispered to the darkened room, her voice cracking.
When she realized what she’d said, she only cried harder.
*
“Could we get two more, please?” Amelia waved her hand and gestured to the almost-empty wineglasses on the bar in front of her and Courtney. The bartender lifted his chin in acknowledgement, giving her the universal “I’ll be right there” sign as Amelia studied her. “Baby, it’s okay. You need to understand that it’s okay.”
Courtney downed the last of her pinot grigio in one gulp. “I don’t know, Meel. I couldn’t get her out of my head. Every time I closed my eyes, there she was.”
Amelia was trying her best to be gentle; Courtney could feel it and she appreciated it. “Honey, don’t you think that’s normal?” she asked.
“It’s been almost three years.
Three years
. Isn’t that long enough?”
“You had the same problem with that phys ed teacher last year, didn’t you?”
Courtney sighed and shook her head. “It wasn’t the same.”
She could almost hear Amelia’s mind whirring and she wondered if her friend had ever tried to imagine what it would be like to lose her husband—the only man she’d ever truly loved—and then attempt to make love with somebody new. Wouldn’t Carl’s face pop into her mind, just as Theresa’s popped into Courtney’s? It only made sense that it would. How would Amelia handle it? Differently? Better? She wanted to ask Amelia these questions that tumbled around and around in her brain, but she was afraid of giving voice to them, of making them too real, of getting the wrong answers. Was it possible to give your heart fully to more than one person? Did humans have the ability to find true love a second time? They must, right? They must. God, she hoped so. She was too damn young to be alone for the rest of her life. It wasn’t fair.
The bartender gave them each a full glass of wine and Amelia pushed a twenty toward him. They sipped in silence for several minutes before Amelia spoke again. “Did you try talking to her about it?”
Courtney grimaced.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“How do I broach that subject?” Courtney turned to Amelia. “Tell me. How? ‘Gee, Rachel, would you mind if we stopped in the middle of having sex so I can talk to you about the fact that I only see my dead girlfriend’s face instead of yours? That won’t bother you, will it?’”
Amelia sipped her wine, but she looked a little stung and Courtney felt bad about that. Changing the subject, Amelia asked, “Have you heard from her at all?”
“No.”
“Have you called her?”
“No.”
“How come?”
Courtney took in a deep breath and blew it out in exhausted frustration. “Because I feel stupid.”
“Honey—”
Courtney held up a hand, interrupting Amelia’s reassurances. “I know I shouldn’t. It doesn’t change the fact that I do.”
“I know.” Amelia watched the sports report being broadcast on the television mounted behind the bar. Without taking her eyes from the screen, she said, “You like this girl, don’t you?” She cleared her throat. “I mean, you
like
her.”
Amelia always could see right through to the heart of things, and ever since their second semester together in college, she could see right into Courtney’s head, read her mind, and Courtney knew it…and sometimes hated it. She had never been able to hide a thing from Amelia, and this moment was no exception.
Also focusing on the TV, she didn’t look at Amelia as she answered. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I have no idea what it is about her. I don’t even know her that well. Getting personal information out of her is like pulling teeth.” She smiled at that, despite her muddled emotions. “But I like her. I think she’s warm and I think she’s got a kind heart. I think she’s interesting and mysterious. I like her a lot and I’d like to spend more time with her. Get to know her. I think…” Her voice trailed off as the fear of giving voice to the feelings took over. God, it seemed like she was afraid of everything these days.
“You think what?” Amelia prompted gently.
Courtney tried to swallow the apprehension back down.
“You think…it could end up being more than like?” Amelia guessed. Her voice was hesitant, Courtney noted, and she knew exactly what was going on in Amelia’s head. Her friend was concerned that Courtney was being too careful, keeping herself closed off emotionally for fear of a meltdown like the one she’d had several weeks after Theresa’s death. She understood it, this concern, as Amelia had seen her at the very bottom of despair. It wasn’t something they talked about or revisited, but Courtney could see it in Amelia’s eyes, hear the worry in her voice even as her mind flashed back to that day more than two years ago…