“It’s like stopping drinking’s improved my eyesight.”
Rose shifted uncomfortably. “You looked up, and I was the first female you saw, that’s all. Maybe you’re just finally getting over—” She had no intention of ruining this moment by saying Leah’s name. “She whose name we will not speak aloud. She who deserves per- manent acne.”
He laughed. “Longest heartbreak story in history. Guess maybe I milked it a little.”
“There’s no timetable on grief, Austin.”
“You got on with your life fairly quick after Philip died.”
“I didn’t have a choice. My children, work…” The image of her husband’s clothes going into the washer flashed through Rose’s mind. “You have no idea what goes on inside my heart, Doctor Donavan.”
“That sad?” “Sometimes, yes.”
“Well, I’d give you a hug you right now if I didn’t think you’d slap
me for doing it. What the hell. I’ll do it anyway. Aim for the right side of my face, Rose. The left’s still pretty sore.”
She shut her eyes. “Austin, don’t.”
His strong arms encircled her. She stiffened and held her breath, awkwardly patting Austin’s shoulder as if he were the one who needed comforting.
“Rose,” he said, breathing her name into her neck. The mutual shoulder patting developed its own evolution, at first slowing down, turning into friendly massage, then transforming into those long, slow strokes that all the way through sweaters and long-sleeved flannel spoke the insistent language of skin talking to skin. “I think you woke something up.”
Despite all her well-intentioned defenses, Rose felt herself slowly catching fire, too. She knew she should pull away. Austin murmured into her hair. He laid her down on her own couch and began to move his lips against her neck. “I can’t do this again,” she insisted. “To you, it’s nothing, but to me it’s—”
“
Shh
. It’s something all right. Let’s just ride this horse awhile, see where he’s taking us.”
Where he took them was all the way down the hall to her bedroom. As she was walked backward, fueled by Austin’s forward motion, Rose thought of the innumerable reasons why she shouldn’t be doing this. She was just beginning to feel better, as if she could survive this, to jettison the embarrassment. There was no sense to starting up again, none, but the kisses Austin delivered in her own living room traveled farther than the two kisses in Taos, and she was greedy for them. Between her legs a pleasant buzzing began to warm her middle. Quickly that friendly fire turned to a deep ache. Austin urged her back against the mattress and down she went, wondering if she really could feel that almost imperceptible lump beneath her that was the forgotten statue of Saint Anthony, or if she only ima- gined she could. Austin pressed his pelvis against hers and she could feel how hard he was, how much he wanted her, at least physically. Maybe Mami was right, because this felt less and less foolish. He pulled her shirt loose from her jeans, fumbled for her zipper, but her pants were the button-fly style. As his hand grazed the pocket where the lubricant and condoms were, Rose reached down to stop him, but he’d already taken them out, and he sat up in bed to inspect what he’d found.
A half smile crossed his face. “For me?”
“Some guy at the rodeo was handing them out. I forgot I had them. I was planning on throwing them away.”
Austin tilted her face up to his. “Lucky thing you didn’t, or I’d’ve had to break my word to Eloy and drive a hundred miles an hour to the nearest liquor store and buy some. Say we’re going to make love, Rose. Say you’re going to let that happen because you know we both want it to.”
She made a noise that caught in her throat, not sure what she wanted to say, and then she pulled away from him, sat up and took a deep breath. “Look. It isn’t that I don’t want to, it’s just—”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to explain it.” But she did know. Austin was so newly sober he still got the shakes. What if he wanted inside her to ease that ache, to find another kind of high? All Leah Donavan need do was snap her fingers and her ex-husband would run to her like the trained dog she loved to torment. And Rose couldn’t stop thinking of the faceless woman who’d taken Philip to bed without a second thought to what that ring on his finger represented. She wanted to make love with Austin, had wanted that for a long time, but everything felt wrong. Even the ticking of her bedside clock sounded out of whack.
Austin’s fingers moved away from the buttons on her blouse. He sat back against the pillows, took one of the condoms and tore open the wrapper. At the sound of the foil tearing, Rose felt a shudder travel through her shoulders, move like hands across her breasts, then travel deep into her marrow.
“Last time I bought one of these things was in a gas station men’s room over thirty-five years ago,” he said. “I was so nervous I almost dropped my quarter. Don’t even remember how to put one on.”
“
Ven a mí
,” she whispered, because asking him to come to her was easier said in Spanish. “We’ll figure it out together.”
He shook his head no and set the condom down on her bedside table. “Maybe some other time, Rose, but it ain’t going to be tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t going to happen that way with you and me.
Neither one of us is ready for this, so we’re going to wait.”
She pulled one of the pillows over herself, embarrassed to have Austin look at her. What he said was the truth, and having him point
that out felt more humiliating than letting him see her naked. She waited for him to get up and leave, but he stayed. His body next to hers felt warm and solid. The sound of her own breathing amplified in her ears, quick and shallow from arousal and nerves. When she looked at him, she saw that Austin was undressing. He never once took his eyes from hers. His body was thinner than she had pictured it would be. His ribs were visible under his skin, and she wanted to trace each one with her fingers. As he kicked off his boots and stepped out of his jeans, she saw that he was wearing that funny Jockey underwear that reached halfway down the thigh. They looked so old-fashioned, but sexy, too. Things looked mighty crowded in there, but he didn’t take them off. He stood at the foot of the bed looking at her.
“I can sleep on your couch,” he said, “but I’d rather be in your bed. I’d just like to lie here and hold you, if that’s all right.”
She nodded.
When Austin sat down on the bed beside her, the plastic pouch of UltraGlide rolled toward his thigh. He picked it up and regarded it soberly. “Have to admit this is a new one on me. Do you require this stuff?”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t.” Austin smiled. “Oh, Rose.”
Her face burned, and she would rather have died that very second than know what lay behind his smile. Still, the Wilder in her had to ask. “‘Oh Rose’ what?”
“We have a little time here. It’s not like we’re trying to catch a bus.”
He fell asleep in her arms, his face against her breasts, and Rose, surprised that he could relax while she felt so charged, held on and waited. No matter what, whether not making love to Austin was a mistake, or might kill what was left of their friendship, what she’d done tonight in terms of coming back to life felt massive. Lily wouldn’t understand that, and neither would Mami, but Rose could tell. Like getting smacked in the head with a frying pan, realizations were coming to her at light speed:
You care too much about this man to ruin what’s between you with one night of sex. He’s fragile, maybe even more breakable than you are. And here he is, sleeping in your bed, minding his manners. He says he’s willing to wait. That you both should. Maybe you can trust that, if any man can ever truly be trusted
.
When Austin was breathing evenly, she untangled her arms from his, got up, and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. On the way back to bed, she stood in the living room looking at Chachi, who was crashed in front of the fire, his fat little body and stubby legs looking for all the world like a cocktail olive stuck with four toothpicks. She tried to visualize everything she’d felt while Austin had walked her down the hallway: Her arms locked around his shoulders, the way he thrust himself against her, so hard and certain, and the way he’d pulled back when he sensed her panic. She wondered why it was that the flood of sensations hadn’t caused her to overcome her inhibitions. Good sense or cowardice? She had to smile, because at one point Chachi had come running from the other room and leaped on the bed, making his usual crash landing that announced he was ready to call it a night. The Jack Russell looked bewildered at finding the dreaded veterinarian in the bed where
he
usually slept, and caromed off the mattress without stopping.
Rose set the water glass down on her bedside table. Her marriage vows ended the moment Philip stopped breathing. In the eyes of God and the law, she was entirely free to do with her body what she wanted. That woman who’d bedded her husband hadn’t had any rights, but she’d gone ahead and taken them anyway. Austin was a troubled man in the midst of a difficult transition. Forever was a word Rose applied to Philip’s absence, nothing else.
Austin roused as she slid back into bed. He touched her arm. “Where did you go?”
“To the kitchen for some water. You thirsty?”
“I don’t want water. I want you to promise something.” “If I can.”
“Do not dye your hair.”
She smiled. “I won’t. For now.”
He continued sleepily, “Or get a face lift, or apologize about your body. Just be Rose.”
“And who is she?”
“Someone I can count on.” He kissed her shoulder and cupped his hand against her elbow.
A few weeks ago she’d been willing to change her life for him, but now things were different. “Austin, I’m just hanging on from moment to moment.”
“I know. The boys in AA would tell me this is too soon to get in- volved with you, that I need more time getting sober. They’re right, but I couldn’t let this time get away from me like all the others. I wanted to stay.”
So it wasn’t just her. He’d felt it other times, too. That eased her mind a little. “I’d walk away from you forever if that would guaran- tee you not taking another drink.”
She heard his quick intake of breath. “That kind of devotion scares me. What happens if I let you down?”
“Go to sleep, Austin. We can’t solve all the world’s problems in one night. All we can do is try to get some rest and deal with tomor- row when it gets here.”
“You’re right.”
He slept, and Rose looked out the window. She was bone-tired, couldn’t stop yawning, and crazy dream images were coming at her, confusing her, blurring the boundaries between sleep and wakefulness. Somewhere in the middle of it all, she heard Mami’s voice crowing:
Let it happen
, mija.
Surrender
. But Mami didn’t know everything.
hep halted his spotted horse at the fenceline. To Lily’s eyes the man looked old and frail, but maybe it was the light this time
of day, neither dusk nor dark, or coming down off the mountain she was nervous enough to seek out trouble where it didn’t exist. “Hey, Shepherd,” she said. “Come say hello to a blast from the past.”
He leaned over the fence rail and shook Tres’s hand. “Doctor Quintero. Heard a rumor you were back in town.”
“Tres’ll do, Shep. I’m no longer practicing medicine.” “Yeah, I heard that, too.”
“Seen Mami and Pop?” Lily asked.
“Your mother took off in her plane just a little bit ago.”
“Did she have the dogs with her?” Lily asked. “Did Pop make her get rid of the greyhounds?”
“One of them. The other’s in the house, listening to the radio.” “What about Pop?”
“Trailered out early this morning with a fellow who wants to buy Matisse. He took Alfred. I expect they’ll be back shortly.”
“Well, poop.” In Lily’s mind the homecoming scenario had played out so beautifully—Pop and Tres clapping one another on the back, Mami inviting them in for drinks—a cozy Wilder welcome that would make Tres feel comfortable, included—and closer to her. For two people who ran a horse ranch, her parents sure didn’t spend a great deal of time there.
“It’s late,” Tres said. “I’d better head back.”
Lily took hold of his arm with both hands. “Stay awhile longer.
Pop might come back any minute.”
Shep cleared his throat. “If he does, he’ll be busy trying to wear that buyer down so the poor fellow’ll cut a check.” He looked up at the sky. “Probably the last good ride anybody’ll make before it starts in snowing.”
“No way,” Lily said. “It’s October.”
Shep chuckled. “Hear that, Tres? She’s been in California so long she lost her weather instincts. It’s going to snow, all right. If not to- night, tomorrow. I can smell it.”
Tres took a small notepad from his back pocket. The spiral binding had been reinforced with duct tape. “Can you describe how it smells?”
“Guess if you put a gun to my head maybe I could.”
Tres uncapped a pen, a fountain pen, Lily noticed. “Would you mind? It’d help a lot with this piece I’m working on.”
“Sort of like copper. Or that could be due to the medicine my doctor has me on, which makes everything taste metallic.”
“New copper, like you repipe with, or old, as in pennies?” “Hey, don’t mind me,” Lily said. “I’ll just duck in and say hello
to my dog while you two work out the smell-taste issues of snow.” Shep dismounted and nearly lost his balance. He caught himself on the fence, and Tres hopped the fence and took hold of the horse’s reins. “Real nice animal you’ve got here,” he said, defusing what
could have been a shameful moment.
The old man composed himself. “I like him all right. By the way, Lily, Rock Hudson managed to tear up one of your mother’s ugly sculptures while you were gone. Can’t wait to hear you explain that to her.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Lily said. Buddy, when he was in the mood, tore up clothes—he had a particular fondness for panties—but she’d been gone long enough he might have switched vices. “Wait for me,” she told Tres. “I’ll only be a minute.”
Just inside the front door lay the remains of a Deborah Butterfield horse sculpture constructed of birch limbs, its hind end entirely dismantled. Lily knelt and picked up a chewed-on branch. It could be glued back together, and turned the other way the damage would hardly be noticeable. Inside the kitchen Lily whistled for Buddy. No wild blue dingo came running out to meet her. Mami’s Christmas cactus had bloomed while she was gone, and now tiny lipstick-pink flowers lit the end of every stem. The plant had begun its life as a four-inch