Dark Dreamer (22 page)

“I don’t spoil things for you, Phoebe. You do that for yourself.”

“This is different. You have to believe me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone.”

“I wish you could hear yourself.” Cara moved past her to set the glasses on the table. “I wish I had a tape recording of the times you’ve told me you were in love and it was going to be different.”

“I know I’ve done some stupid things in the past,” Phoebe said with shaky dignity. “When I think about those other women now, I can see that I never loved any of them. I just hoped I did.”

“You think that’s changed?” Cara softened her tone. “Honestly, sweetie. I’m not saying this to hurt you. I know you want to believe someone is going to walk into your life and sweep you off your feet. But that’s just a fairy tale.”

Phoebe stared at her. “Why are you being like this? Is it because I invited her for Christmas?”

“No. I don’t give a damn if you invite ten people without discussing it with me. You’re the one doing the cooking.”

“Then what? Please tell me.”

“I have told you.”

Phoebe shook her head, wispy curls drooping from the Grecian knot she wore while cooking. In a voice thick with tears, she said, “Can’t you feel how different this is? You have to know.”

Cara did sense a more profound emotion in Phoebe, but she refused to validate her twin’s happy delusion that this time she’d found true love. “All I know is that I asked you not to do this, and we now have a situation. Sooner or later it’s going to end up in my lap.”

“Don’t you have any faith in me at all?” Phoebe grew pale. “For God’s sake, Cara. I don’t understand why you’re so angry. If it doesn’t work out, I promise you I will deal with it. So please…at least act like you’re happy for us while she’s here.”

Cara felt a burn of frustration. Phoebe seemed unable to move beyond her need for someone’s blind adoration. Apparently it wasn’t enough that she had a twin who loved her and shielded her from harsh reality. Cara supposed it had something to do with the loss of their parents. Ever since she could remember, Phoebe had repeated an almost childlike quest for approval and attention over and over with women who seemed like authority figures.

They were usually much older—Bev had been in her mid-forties. And they were the type who put her on a pedestal and treated her like she was made of porcelain. Rowe didn’t exactly fit the profile. On the other hand, Phoebe’s choices were limited right now and their attractive, single neighbor was right next door.

Cara swallowed a sigh. She wouldn’t have minded playing around with Rowe herself, and it would have been a whole lot less complicated for all concerned. Rowe had been interested. Maybe she could still be tempted. Cara seriously doubted the woman was kidding herself about the nature of her liaison with Phoebe. She had obviously been down that road too many times to harbor naïve illusions. No doubt she was enjoying having a beautiful woman in her bed. Did it really matter which twin it was?

Cara smiled. Rowe could be handled, of that she was confident. “You win,” she told Phoebe with a sigh. “I’ll be nice to her.”

*

Before Rowe was halfway along the path, the back door flew open and Phoebe stood there. It had been a slow slog to the Temples’ house, dragging a covered handcart, with Zoe and Jessie cavorting out of shouting range like they were seeing snow for the first time. They would have to go straight to the laundry and get dried off. Rowe could imagine them leaping all over Cara, smearing mud and slobber down her expensive designer clothing.

“Hey, baby!” She waved to Phoebe. “The dogs are filthy, sorry.”

Phoebe called them, and as usual, they hurtled toward her, then flopped down at her feet, models of good behavior. Looking past them, Phoebe asked, “Need a hand?”

“No. I’m fine, thanks. But we should probably make sure they don’t jump up on Cara.” Rowe studied her lover with a smile she knew was probably sappy.

Phoebe’s cheeks were stained crimson, a paler shade of the skirt she was wearing. In her simple white blouse, with her ebony hair drawn up into a careless knot, the wild color in her face and her eyes shy and bright with passion, she looked so stunning Rowe was rooted to the spot, hardly able to breathe.

The strength of her reactions shocked her. It had been much easier to long for women she couldn’t have, she understood suddenly. With the Marions of her past, she had felt powerless and frustrated, but somehow safe. Sustained by fantasy and hope, her romantic feelings had never had to withstand the acid test of real life. There was nothing to prove when you didn’t have to be a partner. You couldn’t fail in a relationship that didn’t exist. It was like having a great idea for a book, but never writing it.

By contrast, being with Phoebe was thrilling and terrifying in equal parts. Rowe felt more exposed than she had at any time with any woman. In the past she had been disappointed, even imagined herself heartbroken over the women who failed to return her feelings. She could see now that she had been wandering in a maze of her own making, taking countless dead-end paths to avoid the prize her soul sought but her heart feared.

Why had she been afraid? It was as if she had courted profound desire, but only in one-sided situations. The women who actually became her lovers were those she defaulted into having sex with. Good women, women she liked. The relationships were…bland. Rowe had drifted in and out of them. None had lasted more than a couple of years. She gazed at Phoebe and knew by some magic she could not explain that she wanted to be with this woman for the rest of her life, that she would never have enough of her. That if she could not be with Phoebe, she wanted no one else, least of all another Marion.

“Go inside, my darling,” she said. “You’re getting cold.”

Instead, Phoebe walked through the snow toward her, arms outstretched. “I’m so happy you came. I missed you yesterday.”

“I missed you, too.”

Rowe wanted to swing her off her feet and carry her upstairs to bed. She didn’t care about Christmas dinner. She would rather devour Phoebe. The craving was so powerful, she had to remind herself to breathe. By contrast, the feelings she’d had for Marion seemed tepid, even banal. Shocked, she stared down at the fine icy crystals clinging to her jacket, each a tiny masterpiece of nature, unique in its design. One day soon they would melt and flow together, unified by the sun, their true purpose the mundane equivalent of a vast garden hose. So why the glittering beauty? Was Mother Nature in an exhibitionist mood—flaunting her immeasurable power to create and transform?

Time, Rowe thought. No one second was the same as the next. Each was a tiny world of possibility. She could seize her life or brush it away. She could fixate on the transient, blind to a wider truth. Or she could accept the fleeting enchantments and distractions of her past for what they were, part of a larger design she could only understand by stepping back. Love was not a solitary crystal of emotion, perfect and discrete. It was an accumulated capacity, a river enriched by dreams and desires and experience. She had loved Marion, in the stunted way she could, so she would know better how to love Phoebe. It was that simple.

Her beloved stared down at the handcart with a puzzled frown. “There’s something moving in there.”

“It’s a surprise,” Rowe said.

Phoebe lit up. “For me?”

“Have you been good?”

“You tell me.” Phoebe giggled and her lips left a warm, damp spot on Rowe’s icy cheek. Tucking her arm into Rowe’s, she walked with her to the laundry and helped clean up the dogs before they moved indoors.

Cara was waiting in the hall, looking like an invitation to sin, in tight black pants and a little butter yellow angora cardigan with a demure cream lace collar. She took Rowe’s coat and said, “You’re looking very delectable.” Playfully, she patted Rowe’s midriff. “No more rolls.”

“Amazing what regular exercise can do,” Rowe replied blandly.

“You know, it beats me why more people don’t just have sex instead of paying a personal trainer.” Cara flicked a pointed look toward Phoebe.

Rowe didn’t rise to the bait. “How was L.A.?”

“I worked hard and played hard.” Cara’s mouth parted in a lazy half-smile. The invitation in her candid gray eyes was unmistakable.

Phoebe touched Rowe’s hand. “Come see the tree.”

Pulling the hand trolley behind her, Rowe followed the twins into the den, wondering what the hell Cara was playing at. Was she hitting on her to prove something? If so, what? Did she seriously imagine Rowe would flirt with her in front of Phoebe? Was she trying to hurt her twin? Disturbed, Rowe inhaled the fragrance of pine and spice and made an effort to focus her attention on the room.

Phoebe hadn’t been kidding when she said she loved decorations. The walls were lavishly garlanded and the tree was decked out in red and gold ornaments. Around its base and hanging from its branches were gifts of all shapes and sizes. Rowe’s eyes were drawn past the glittering branches to a portrait on the wall, a pastel of Phoebe holding a sweet-faced spaniel.

She took a couple of paces toward it, captivated. The artist had captured Phoebe in a few deft strokes, revealing her innate sweetness and fascinating contradictions, her innocence and allure. The eyes that stared from her delicate face shone with hope and trust, and something else. Painful knowledge. Rowe caught her breath, her most protective instincts aroused.

Cara materialized at her side. “Isn’t it something?”

“Amazing,” Rowe agreed.

An arm slipped into hers and her nostrils registered the spicy fragrance she had smelled a moment earlier. It was rich, almost chocolatey, and belonged to Cara, who turned slightly then, her breast brushing Rowe’s arm. An accident? Rowe wanted to believe so. She shifted uneasily, putting some air between her body and Cara’s.

“Sweetie, did you tell Rowe about meeting Colby?”

Phoebe shook her head, absorbed in rearranging a strand of tree lights that had dropped from their branch. “I’ll tell her later.”

“Obviously you’ve heard of him.” Cara was determined to impress. “Colby Boone. Portrait artist to the rich and famous.”

Rowe hadn’t, but she said, “He’s very talented.”

“Artists always want to paint Phoebe. Has she shown you her collection of paintings and poems yet?”

Phoebe’s head lifted. She cast an imploring look at Cara, who responded with a helpless shrug.

“Okay. I put my foot in it. Phoebe would rather you don’t know she’s been inundated with bad love poems all her life. So, I’ll change the subject.” She sashayed to the sideboard and set about fixing drinks, asking Rowe, “Is Christmas a big deal in your family?”

Rowe wanted to ignore the question and ask Cara what her problem was, but she could guess. Phoebe must have told her their news. Surmising that the change in their relationship had not been greeted with delight, she cast a glance toward her lover, who was still hovering in front of the Christmas tree, an edge of strain in her expression. Rowe groaned inwardly. Family dramas—could any Christmas be complete without them?

“When my brother and I were kids, Mom and Dad always went to town for the Santa trip,” she said, trying to sound normal. “But these days we don’t do anything lavish.”

Phoebe turned anxious eyes on her. “I didn’t even think when I invited you. Would you normally be with your family?”

“Not this year. I gave my folks a Hawaiian vacation. My dad’s almost eighty, and he hasn’t been well lately, so it was now or never. The traveling isn’t getting any easier. As for my brother…” She grimaced. “He got born again last year and isn’t crazy about spending time with the dyke sister.”

“My commiserations.” Cara handed out glasses of eggnog.

“He’ll get over it.” Rowe held Phoebe’s gaze and gave her a broad smile. “Baby, I have something for you. Is it okay if I give it to you now?”

Phoebe’s eyes sparkled at the faint innuendo. “You know how I hate waiting.”

Rowe unfastened the heavy canvas that covered her handcart and reached inside. Pulling a squirming little body from the warm cocoon she’d built with blankets and a heating pad, she said, “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh, my God!” Phoebe lifted the puppy to her face, beaming. “A pug. I love pugs! She’s to die for!”

“How clever of you.” Cara directed the semisweet remark at Rowe. “Now that she has a puppy, she’ll have to stay home to look after it. Won’t that be perfect for the two of you?”

Phoebe didn’t seem to notice her sister’s barb. “Molly…that’s what I’ll call her.” She bestowed a lingering kiss on Rowe. “Thank you, sweetheart. I don’t know what to say. She’s the best present I’ve ever had. I mean apart from meeting you.”

Rowe knew she had cringed even as she registered Cara’s pained expression. It hadn’t been her intention to eclipse any gift Phoebe’s twin would give. Haplessly, she started to say something self-effacing, but Cara cut her off.

“Listen, why don’t I leave you two lovebirds alone for a while so you can do the personal gift thing without me cramping your style.” A brilliant smile. “I need to check on the deer, anyway.”

“No. Wait.” Phoebe caught at her sister’s arm. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sweetie, you’re in love,” Cara said in a patient tone. “You were completely tactless all the other times, too.” Brushing Phoebe’s hand away, she stalked off.