The Righteous and The Wicked (35 page)

Their lips touch and they are each possessed by a deep desire to never let the other go.

“I want this to be forever, Emma. Tell me that you want it, too.” He holds her fragile face between his palms and looks into her eyes, into her soul.

“I do. Forever.”

As they lie facing each other, she feels him grow rigid beside her softness. Having no reason to resist their desires, their hips press together and then he’s inside her again. He moves, slow and deep. He looks down at her body, at her delicate neck, her supple breasts, and where their bodies are joined together. He slides his hand into her hair, and holds tight, pulling her body down as he rises up inside her.

“It’s so hard to be gentle with you. I dreamed of your skin, your hands, your legs, your lips. Every night.”

She knows what he means, and shows him as she moves her hips in tandem with his. He buries his face in her breasts and her neck, fighting against his body, trying to restrain himself so he can make her feel good.

She doesn’t make it easy for him, her fingernails drag across his skin, leaving tingling trails. Her body meets his again and again, and he can’t help but moan at how good she makes him feel.

“Do you like that?” she teases.

“Please,
amorcita
, if you talk that way . . .”

She swivels her hips so she’s on top of him—in control. She wants to show him how much she loves this, how much she wants him, always.

The light from the window bathes her whole body and Eric watches with delight as she leans back, her hands running through the deep, dark waves of her hair. The slight sweat on her body glistens and she almost looks like she is glowing. “So beautiful.”

He reaches to touch her in places he knows will please her, but she grabs his hands and leans over him. “No. Let me do this for you.”

She holds him down and rides him faster, her breasts are at his lips, and he kisses her there. Sounds of pleasure stutter from her lips as she slides up and down his stiff shaft.

Eric wants to throw her down on the bed, but what she wants to give him is more important than his lust. “That’s it, Emma. Just like that . . . you feel so good . . . so fucking good, Emma.”

His words ignite a blaze in her and she wants nothing more than to make him come. She releases his hands and leans back, arching and bending her body. Her hands on his chest, her skin meeting his as she moves even faster. She looks him right in the eyes as she makes love to him, and the intensity of what she feels pours out of her. She cries out as she reaches her peak and she sees Eric watching her. Then his face and his body constrict as he releases himself deep inside her.

“Emma . . .” He pulls her down against his heaving chest and she lies in his arms, spent and at peace.

It seems like a very long time before they’re cognizant of their surroundings again. Emma looks around her room and her eyes stop on her open closet . . . and the wooden box that’s buried at the bottom of it. “There’s something I need to do today and I want you to be there.”

“
Sim, meu amor
.
¹²
Anything for you.”

After lazing in bed for most of the morning, Eric sits, shirtless, on the porch of Emma’s house, surveying the state of disrepair it’s in and making plans in his mind to remedy it.

Emma emerges from the front door in a robe and slippers, with two mugs of coffee in her hands. She sits beside him and offers him his cup. He sips and watches her take a breath of the sweet morning air. The scent of lilac and honeysuckle waft around them. Eric sees her smile and her beauty overwhelms him.

“Emma,
minha linda
,
¹³
your smile changed my life. Come here, you’re not close enough.” He holds his arm out for her to crawl underneath.

She moves closer, a perfect fit beside him. “One of these days you’re going to have to teach me some Portuguese.”

He laughs. “No way. I like it like this.” A warm wind blows over their skin. “Feels like it’s going to be hot today.”

“Hmmph.”

Eric’s puzzled by her grumble. “What is it?”

“It’s just funny, now that I look around, summer’s almost over and I didn’t notice it.”

She looks at the sky and lets the sun bathe her face. They sit in silence before she speaks. “It felt like winter for a long time. Do you know what I mean?”

Eric squeezes her tight. He knows just what she means.

The sound of giggles and little footsteps approach. Eric and Emma are no longer alone. The Driscoll children are making their first appearance of the day. Since they’ve moved in, Jason and Sarah have made a habit of visiting Emma. They’re drawn to her. She’s always happy to see them and her genuine kindness is not lost on the perceptive children. They study Eric, apprehensive of this stranger.

“Who are
you
?” Jason asks Eric.

Before he can answer, Sarah smacks her little brother. “That’s
rude,
Jason!”

Emma laughs and interrupts their quarrel. “Sarah, Jason, this is Eric.”

“Hi.” Eric smiles and waves at the unexpected guests.

Sarah focuses her attention on Emma and hands her a box wrapped in construction paper. “This is for you, Emma. We made them, me and Jason did.” The small children are bursting with pride and excitement over the gift they have made for their neighbor.

Emma opens the box, and places the contents in the palm of her hand. “Oh my goodness! These are just beautiful!” She gushes over her treasure.

In her hand, Emma holds several painted rocks. “I’m going to go put them inside with the others.” She winks at Eric as she stands and goes into the house.

Eric is left alone with the children. Sarah fidgets with her hair and Jason stamps at the dirt.

“Where did you come from?” Jason shields his shoulder from his sister’s attempt at another smack.

Eric smiles and shakes his head. “It’s okay to ask me questions. I used to live where you do. I built that house.” He points down the path that used to lead him to Emma.

“You did?” The children are in awe.

“Why did you build it?” Sarah asks.

Eric looks at the house that he built, then at Emma’s silhouette in the
kitchen window, and then at the children. “Well, I think I built it so that you could live there, and be happy, and make pretty presents for my Emma.” He smiles and charms the children.

They nod at Eric’s answer. It makes perfect sense to them.

Emma watches from the kitchen window. She places the painted rocks on the windowsill and it makes perfect sense to her, too.

Later that day, Emma’s car winds up the rocky road. The water of Pine Lake is at her left and the wooden box is on her lap. She feels anxious and some part of her feels sad. This is long overdue, but a chapter of her life is closing, and an array of emotions flow through her.

A sense of finality overcomes her as she parks at the top of the cliff. There was a time when this scenario would have been tempting to her in a very dark way, but those days are over. Numbness and despair are strangers to her now. The ghosts that haunted her are gone.

She gets out of the car and stands at the edge of the rocky cliff. His breath is at her back. Eric says nothing, but he’s there for her. She grips the box and opens it one last time. She rubs her finger along the picture, but sheds no tears. She’s ready to say goodbye. She closes the box and drops her memories into the black water below.

“Hand me the Phillips head.” Eric puts his hand out to Emma.

She shakes her head. “Okay. I have
no
idea what you’re talking about.”

He laughs. “The screwdriver with the yellow and black handle, the tip has a little cross on it.”

Emma rummages through the toolbox with a furrowed brow, and after several long seconds, she finds what Eric needs. She sits beside him where he kneels on the porch removing and replacing the rotten floorboards. In the distance, Sarah and Jason are playing tag in the too-long grass. Emma loves watching them—their innocence and hope are contagious.

The children abandon their game and run toward the couple. “Emma, can you come and play with us?”

“I can’t right now, but maybe later? I have to help Eric.”

The children hunch their shoulders with disappointment, but then get distracted by Eric’s activity.

“What’s he doing? What are you doing, Eric?” Jason asks.

“I’m fixing the house.”

“Why don’t you just build a new one?” Sarah asks.

He stops his work and considers the question. “I could do that. I could make something new, but sometimes it’s better to fix what’s broken, instead of starting over.”

Eric smiles at Emma and thinks about how hard they both have worked to fix broken things. He kisses her cheek and returns to his work. The sweet summer wind blows through the thick green leaves. The wind chime sings and the children laugh.

And Emma is happy.

“You’d better finish that up before Emma comes down. She’ll be mad if she knows I gave you that much sugar.” Eric stands at the sink washing out a blender . . . in a tuxedo.

“But it’s yummy. Mommy never gives us milkshakes
and
donuts.” Sarah protests and returns to slurping at her straw.

Heels click on the wood of the stairs, becoming louder as Emma approaches. She stands in the doorway, her hands on her hips, but she’s smiling. “Seriously? Margie and Tom are going to kill me when two hyper kids return to them.”

“Wow. You look pretty, Emma,” Jason says.

Eric turns away from the sink and his eyes widen when he sees her. Her dress is the color of a blooming purple azalea. Ruffles plunge down into a deep V-neck, and shoes a shade lighter than sun-bleached driftwood adorn her tiny feet. She smoothes out her dress and fidgets as his eyes roam her body. Emma clears her throat and Eric remembers there are children present.

He wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “Okay,
meus anjos
,
¹⁴
time to go.”

The children grumble. “Where are you guys going?” Sarah asks.

“Our friends are getting married today and we’re going to the party,” Emma answers.

“Mommy and Daddy are married,” Jason states in a very serious, five-year-old voice.

“Most mommies and daddies are,” Emma says.

Sarah ponders this as she kicks her feet beneath the table. “Why?”

“Um . . . well, sometimes people do that when they love each other.” Emma clears the children’s empty glasses.

“Are you and Eric going to get married?”

Emma is taken aback, and lets out a nervous giggle. “I don’t know. Do you think we should?”

“Yes. Because you love each other.”

“You’re a very wise little lady.” Eric says and picks Sarah up so that he can look into her eyes. “But you have to promise that
you’ll
be there.”

“Do I have to wear a dress?” Sarah crinkles up her nose in distaste.

“You can wear anything you want.”

“Okay.”

Sarah squirms and Eric sets her down, then she and Jason clamber out of the kitchen shouting goodbyes over their shoulders. Eric approaches Emma at the sink, and wraps his arms around her waist. They stand together in silence, watching the children run home.