The Color of Heaven - 09 - The Color of Time (16 page)

“It’s all so magical,” I whispered.

“
Mm
,” he replied. “When I look at the stars, anything seems possible.”

“That’s a nice thought.” I crawled forward on my knees to lay beside him, rather than face him from the opposite end of the boat.

He slid his arm around me and we remained there for hours beneath the moon and stars, just talking. Eventually I fell asleep with my head on Chris’s shoulder. We didn’t wake until dawn. Then Chris picked up the oars and together we marveled at the colorful sunrise as he rowed us back to the house where Buffy was scratching at the door, eager to be taken out for a walk.

Chris picked up her leash and the three of us went together.

We hadn’t made it fifty yards down the driveway before I stopped in my tracks, remembering that I had an appointment with my doctor later that morning.

I mentioned it to Chris, and when we finished walking Buffy, he insisted on driving me home and waiting around to take me to my appointment as well. Without thinking it through as I should have, I agreed.

Chapter Thirty-two

I felt badly about allowing Chris to drive me to the clinic—which turned out to be more of a commitment than I’d expected, as I was referred to a specialist at the hospital who requisitioned bloodwork and a CAT scan. The reason I felt badly was because I knew how much time Chris had spent in hospitals over the past few years, yet I was dragging him into another potentially sad situation involving doctors and nurses—while he was on vacation, no less.

By late afternoon, I spoke to the neurologist and learned the results of my tests. He assured me that there was no tumor on my brain, but he was concerned about my sleep patterns, memory problems, and the fact that I was having trouble distinguishing between dreams and reality. He asked about my moods and if I’d been under any added stress lately. We discussed the deaths of my husband and son, but I reminded him that it happened many years ago.

He asked me to return another day for more follow-up tests, and to bring a family member or close friend with me. Naturally, this made me wonder if I had early onset Alzheimer’s, but I was only thirty-three. Surely that couldn’t be the case.

During the drive home with Chris, I was quiet as I stared out the window at the passing landscapes, which seemed to rush by all too quickly.

“How are you feeling?” he eventually asked as we approached Cape Elizabeth. When I didn’t answer right away, he spoke again. “I wonder if a sleep specialist is all you need.”

I pressed the button to roll down the automatic window, stuck my arm out and felt the wind push against the palm of my hand. “Maybe…but it’s strange. With every day that passes, what happened in those dreams seems less real to me. It’s pulling away…harder to remember.” I looked at him. “
This
is what’s real to me now—the simple act of driving in a car with you. It feels good. I don’t feel confused about
this
. It’s my life and this is all there is. The other stuff… They were just dreams.”

He glanced at me with concern. “You should still get checked out, though. I’d hate to think that the doctors might be missing something.”

“I will,” I replied. “But listen, Chris…I don’t want to drag you into all this. You have enough on your plate.”

He reached for my hand. His brown eyes glimmered in the light reflecting off the dashboard. “You trying to get rid of me?”

I shook my head. “Of course not.”

“Good, because this is where I want to be. I’m really glad I went to the pub for lunch on Friday.”

“I’m glad, too,” I replied with a smile. “And I’m glad you invited me out to dinner.”

We held hands the rest of the way home, and I felt an unfamiliar, almost impossible calm inside myself—like water on a windless night, reflecting the stars so perfectly that it was impossible to tell where the world ended and the universe began. I don’t believe I ever felt anything quite so tranquil before, which seemed odd, considering the doctor’s request to see me again for more tests.

When we arrived at my house, Chris pulled onto my white gravel driveway and shut off the engine.

“Do you want to come in?” I asked. “You’re probably starving. I have some spaghetti sauce in the freezer.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’d love to, but I have to get back to Buffy. She’s probably pacing around the kitchen by now, desperate to go out.”

“Oh right… Do you want to go home and get her and bring her over?” I asked. “I could have the pasta cooked by then.”

I worried suddenly that I was being too pushy. We had just spent the past twenty-four hours together. Maybe Chris needed some space.

His eyebrows lifted hopefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

My whole body relaxed. It was like letting go of myself and giving way to a river current, trusting it to take me along.

“You wouldn’t be. You’re only here for a few weeks. I’d like to spend more time with you.”

He nodded. “Me, too.” He turned the key in the ignition to start the engine again. “I’ll be about half an hour. Do you need anything? I could stop by the grocery store on my way back.”

“No, I have everything. And there’s no rush.” I got out of the car and smiled back at him through the open window. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.” He shifted into reverse and pulled away.

Standing in the driveway, feeling splendidly content, I watched the tail lights of his car as he drove down the lane. Then I turned toward the house, bounded up the steps and pushed the front door open with a wondrous sense of exhilaration—the likes of which I hadn’t felt in years.

Chapter Thirty-three

I had time for a quick shower while the spaghetti sauce was defrosting in the microwave. It was a humid, sultry summer evening, so I donned a light cotton sundress and swept my hair into a messy bun.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, a half hour had already passed. Then forty-five minutes. Soon it was well over an hour since I’d said good-bye to Chris in the driveway.

Not that I was watching the clock or anything, but by that point the pasta was cooked, the salad was made and the sauce was simmering impatiently on the stove.

When at last I heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway and the slam of a car door, my heart thumped in my chest. I padded in my bare feet to the front window to peer out.

I was pleased to see Chris, urging Buffy out of the backseat and hooking the leash onto her collar. She hopped out and went a little wild sniffing the ground and shrubs along the edge of the driveway. Tail wagging, she darted in a number of directions. He finally managed to lead her up the steps, where I met them both on the veranda.

“She must have been glad to see you.” I knelt down to say hello to her and scratch behind her ears. She immediately began to lick the lotion off my wrist and arm.

“Sorry I took so long,” he replied. “There were a few messages on my phone.”

I rose to my feet and saw that his eyes were downcast. He was watching Buffy and seemed reluctant to meet my gaze. Though I sensed that something was off kilter, I chose not to pry. At least not at that moment.

“No problem,” I said. “Come on in. The food’s ready.”

He followed me inside and freed Buffy from her leash. She immediately zipped off to sniff every room.

While I reheated the cooked pasta under a stream of hot water at the sink, Chris opened the wine. He poured us each a glass, and wandered around the kitchen, looking at things.

“It’s been a lot of years since I’ve been inside this house,” he said. “I remember it as a kid, in the summers when the Fosters would finally arrive and invite me over to play with Ethan. They always kept chocolate ice cream in the freezer, and he had a nanny who was very generous about second helpings.”

“They’re happy memories, I assume?” I said as I carried the pasta in a colander back to the stove.

“Yes. Ethan and I were good buddies. I was always sorry we lost touch after my family moved away.”

I reached for two plates and served up the spaghetti, then carried them to the dining room where I’d already set the table for us. Chris brought the wine.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten in this room,” he said, stopping in the doorway to take in the sheer size of the table, the height of the ceiling and giant crystal chandelier.

I set down our plates. “I eat in here by myself all the time. I cook a nice meal, sit at the head of the table, put on some quiet jazz, and enjoy the ambience. Sounds kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?”

He moved to take a seat. “No, it’s great that you don’t take it for granted. It’s a beautiful house.”

As soon as we were seated, Buffy trotted in and lay down at Chris’s feet. We immediately began chatting about more of Chris’s childhood memories of the house and the two summers we spent together. I asked him about his old girlfriend Jean and he mentioned that she’d wanted to reconnect and had found him on Facebook a few years back. She was happily married with three children and living in Connecticut.

Though things started off light, his mood had changed since he dropped me off. And by the end of the meal, I felt as if a wall of social propriety had risen between us, and we were endeavoring to make polite, superficial conversation.

When I finished my spaghetti, I slid my plate away and leaned forward over the table. “Is everything okay?” I asked. “You haven’t seemed like yourself since you got here.”

Chris’s chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh, then he fingered the stem of his wine glass, spinning it around, slowly. “I must have a terrible poker face.”

I reached out to hold his hand. “What’s going on? Do you want to talk about it?”

“I guess there’s no time like the present.” Sliding his hand out from under mine and leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his palms over his thighs. “Remember when I said there were some messages on my phone?”

A restlessness came over me, a skittish urge to bolt and never hear whatever he was about to say. But I remained in my seat, bracing myself. “Did something happen?”

Chris looked down at his lap. “Katelyn called.”

“Oh, God, is Logan okay?”

Chris nodded. “He’s fine. Everything’s okay on that front. But Katelyn told me that Joe ended their relationship a few weeks ago.”

A heavy, sobering cloud settled over the table. “You didn’t know that?”

He shook his head. “Not until today. I don’t know why she felt she needed to keep that from me. We talk at least once a week. Last time, I could tell something was up, but….” He shrugged.

“Is she all right?”

“Not really. She was pretty broken up. They’d been together for four years.”

Not knowing what this would mean for Chris and his relationship with his ex-wife, I sat back and tried not to think of my own selfish desires—because I’d felt something spark between us from the first moment we recognized each other at the pub. I wasn’t sure what it was yet, but I wanted to explore it. I wanted that with an intensity that frightened me, considering his ex-wife could suddenly be back in the picture.

“What happened between them?” I asked. “Did they have a fight or something?”

Chris picked up his wine. “She said Joe felt she was always comparing him to me, and that she was never going to let him be a real father to Logan, that I would always be her one and only.”

The words caused a ruckus in me.
One and only
. “Do you think that’s true?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. It sure didn’t feel that way when she packed my suitcase four years ago and told me she was in love with someone else.” A muscle clenched at his jaw. “Since then, the only thing that’s kept us linked together in any way is Logan.”

We sat in silence for a long while. The ticking of the clock on the mantle reverberated in my ears like thunder.

Eventually, Chris sat forward and reached for my hand. “She’s always had the worst timing.”

Not entirely sure what he meant by that—or what he wanted—I swallowed uneasily. “How so?”

He raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. My body burned with longing and heartache.

“I had a nice time with you last night,” he explained. “Everything was so…
perfect
. I wanted to get to know you better. It felt easy and natural. Now it’s complicated.”

I decided I wasn’t going to beat around the bush. I wanted the truth—the cold, hard, brutal truth—and I wanted it now.

“Did Katelyn ask you to come back to her?”

Chris bowed his head and let out a resigned sigh. “No, she didn’t go that far, but she asked if she could come out here for the week with Logan, just to get away, figure things out.”

I frowned. “What did you say?”

His eyes lifted. “I told her I’d need to think about it.”

The tension in my neck and shoulders tightened.

Chris must have sensed it, for he kissed my hand again, slowly, gently, and repeatedly, until my body began to relax and a fresh wave of desire crashed over me, nearly knocking me over. All I wanted was to press my lips to his, make him forget about Katelyn, and think only of me.

Our eyes met and a shared, sensuous physical awareness hovered in the air between us, thick and sumptuous, difficult to resist. My blood raced hotly through my veins and my breaths came short—yet I was hesitant. I didn’t want to surrender to this yearning when I was so unsure about any possible future with this man from my past. In less than two weeks, his ex-wife might arrive with a plan to put the pieces of her broken family back together and rekindle her husband’s love.