Home Before Dark (33 page)

An ominous tic tightened his jaw. “You know what I mean. This marriage has been on autopilot for too long. Even the sex—you've been phoning it in, Luz. We need to figure ourselves out again.”

She had no reply. His assessment was stunningly, devastatingly accurate.

“I share the blame for this,” he admitted. “Hell, maybe it's all my fault we're losing each other.”

Pressing her hands to her too-warm face, she knew then that she hadn't begun to deal with Jessie's disclosure. When Jessie told the truth about Lila, Luz and Ian were already in trouble. There were little cracks and fissures in the foundation, and they'd been ignoring them. It was hard, so hard to speak her heart, but she knew she had to. “I feel…threatened,” she admitted. “I know I can't control who you knew or didn't know before we met. But the fact you kept it from me—”

“That's the thing that pisses you off, isn't it? That there's a part of me you can't control. Yeah, I kept it from you. So did Jess. And then I forgot about it. Hell, Luz, I was so crazy in love with you that I didn't think of anyone else, and that's the truth. I swear it.”

She gathered a deep breath to speak the unspeakable. He deserved the truth about her, finally, and she deserved whatever his reaction was. “The fact is, Ian, I'm jealous.”

“No way. Jessie and I—”

“Not that,” she said. “I'm talking about Lila. When we didn't know who fathered her, we were both equally her parents. But when Jessie said it was you…the balance shifted, Ian. And I know it's ugly and I know it doesn't make sense but I started resenting you. Lila was yours but not mine. Or at least more yours than mine, and it's been making me nuts.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Shit. You want to go for that cappuccino?”

She sent him a wry smile. “Look, I don't mean to break the spell, Ian, and I love everything you're trying to do here, but a romantic date is not going to magically erase these issues.”

“I don't want to erase them. I want to get them all out on the table so we can figure out the next step.”

“This is why I don't talk things out with you, Ian. When you say things like that, it makes me think you want to leave—”

“If that was what I wanted, you'd be the first to know, Luz. Even the problems are part of what we are together, and that's precious to me. I don't lie to you. I never have, and I don't think you lie to me.”

“But we keep things from each other,” she pointed out.

“Maybe we should change that.”

Would he still love her if he knew her secret fears? She thought of the cold panic that had swept over her when she'd spied him in front of the hotel earlier today. “I'll never be as smart or as cute as your interns. You get new ones every year, and they're all twenty-three, and every year I get older. And each morning, you dash off to work as though you can't wait to see them.”

“Ah, Luz, if I seem like a workaholic, it doesn't have anything to do with interns.”

“Then why, Ian?” The question was a pained plea. She felt the magic of the evening slipping away, but they'd started this and now she had to know.

His next words stunned her. “I've never been the man you want me to be, Luz, and now you've got this photography career going. I've never made enough money, never gave you enough—”

She stopped him by pressing her fingers to his lips. “Oh, Ian Benning, you incredible fool. Where in the world did you get that idea?”

He kissed her fingers, never taking his gaze from hers. “It's in your eyes, every time I look at you. I see you reading travel books about exotic places, collecting pictures of houses we could never afford to own. Jesus Christ, Luz, I want to give you those things, to take you places and show you the world you want to see.”

She took her hand away and sank down on the end of the bed. He was right. She'd never said a word, but he saw her
clearly. She had spent years dreaming of things beyond her grasp rather than cherishing the life she had. “Oh, Ian. How can you stand me?”

“I can't live without you, Luz. This marriage means too much to me. You mean too much to me. But we need to fix this.”

“Okay.”

“Starting now.”

“Yes.”

“Just so you're clear on this,” he said, lowering himself to his knees so he was eye to eye with her. “I want you to understand what beautiful is to me, Luz. It's you. You're like a work of art. Every single part of you. The lines around your eyes because you smile so much. Your sweet soft ass and belly that isn't perfectly flat because you bore my children. It's the way your hair smells and the way you look when you get out of the shower. It's the smile on your face when I come home from a long day at work. I miss that, Luz. I want us to find that again. Just tell me what to do. Should I take you to the Taj Mahal or to Paris or—”

“You know what to do, Ian Charles Benning,” she said as her heart broke open. “You always have.”

She realized then that the carefully crafted romance of the evening was gone for sure. But in its place was something so much richer—a passion heated by honesty, a commitment deepened by a love so sharp and true that she felt pierced by it, a yearning so stark that she could not even put her need into words. What she found so sexy, in spite of everything, was the honesty. She stood, drawing him up with her, and their lovemaking began slowly, with unveiling and exploration. Luz felt slightly absurd in the stiff-spined bustier, but Ian clearly found it a turn-on as he enjoyed the novelty of unfastening the cord down the back.

Luz sighed as her clothes slipped to the floor and she lay back on the downy bed, bringing Ian with her. Simply slowing down yielded a world of remembered delights. She had nearly forgotten the sheer pleasure of weaving her fingers through her husband's hair, gliding her hands over his chest, down his hips. It had been far too long since she'd savored his gasp of lust when she became the aggressor, mounting him and opening herself so he would have access to every part of her.

He could still set her on fire, could still bring her to tears with his exquisite tenderness and generosity. He always could. He wasn't a perfect husband or perfect father any more than she was a perfect wife, but in the bedroom, they reached perfection. This was where he took her away, where she forgave him and he accepted her with all her flaws, where she was so thankful she'd married him, where she acknowledged that she was only half alive without him.

Over the long, dark hours of the flower-scented night, they found the love they'd fallen into sixteen years before, and they fell all over again. Luz felt as though she'd been plunged into a new world; she seemed like a new person. And she knew that she was. Ian had made her see herself in ways she'd been willfully blind to, and it was so simple, really. Her fulfillment always had and always would come from the people in her life, not distant places and risky adventures. It was time, she realized, past time to let go of tired old dreams and begin to cherish newer, truer ones. And she discovered that the real dream had never really left her.

She gave a soft cry of agonized pleasure, and afterward drifted, listening to his heartbeat with her ear against his bare chest, enjoying the way he toyed with her hair. Finally, when it was so late in the night that no one else could possibly be awake, he asked, “What are you thinking, Luz?”

“We might never have Paris, but we'll always have each other. How corny is that?”

“Just don't rule out Paris entirely.”

She propped her chin on his chest so she could look at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

He settled on top and clasped her hands in his, pinioning her as he slid inside again. “I love you, too, Luz. I always have.”

On Saturday morning, Jessie awakened to thoughts of her sister. They had all connived to send Luz away with Ian. Oh, how she prayed it would help. She still felt guilty about the havoc her disclosure had wreaked on their marriage. They loved each other, but they had some serious mending to do. She hoped the stolen evening in San Antonio had been a success.

She went to the main house and was amazed to smell the aroma of baking cookies. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Am I in the wrong house? It smells like Luz never left.”

“I made a batch of cookies,” said Lila. “Want one?”

Jessie sensed her niece was still wary, but at least willing to listen. She took a bite of the warm chocolate chip cookie and made a blissful expression, ignoring Flambeau's frantic sniffing. “You are a domestic goddess in training. I didn't know you were such a good baker.”

“Baking cookies is a cinch.”

Jessie went to the fridge for milk, frowning when she didn't
find the jug in the usual door slot. “Where's the milk?” she asked.

“I moved it down a shelf.”

Jessie gritted her teeth, but forced herself to make a joke of it. “When you move something even a few inches, it might as well be in Chicago.”

“Sorry.”

“Where is everyone?” Jessie asked.

“The boys are over with Miss Glenny and Grandpa Stu. I think Grandpa Stu promised to take them fishing off the dock.”

Jessie sneaked another warm cookie from the cooling rack, then made her way to a stool at the kitchen island and sat down. “So what's the occasion?”

Lila hesitated. “There's a thing this afternoon.”

“What kind of thing?”

“Just this memorial thing.”

“For Dig Bridger,” Jessie guessed. She felt a waft of heat as Lila opened the oven and took out more cookies.

“That's right.”

“So what sort of memorial is this?”

“There was a fundraiser to build a new sandbox for the city park, and it's going to be dedicated to Dig. Weird, huh?”

“Why is that weird?” She paused, sensing Lila's discomfort. “I can't hear you shrugging.”

“It's a sandbox, of all things. I don't know what I was thinking when I— Well, a sandbox seems weird to, you know, honor a kid who…died.”

Jessie got it then. A deep silence filled the room. “Come sit with me, love.”

Lila banged the oven shut. They went together to the family room and plunked down on the couch. “I don't know what I was thinking. But my first memory of Dig is when we were
really little, playing in a sandbox. That's how he got his name. He loved to dig and dig and dig.” Lila's voice cracked with a sob. “Oh, God,” she said. “I still dream about it every night. It's like Heath Walker's mother said. The accident was my fault.”

“Lila, no—”

“Yes. There was a moment when I could have told Heath to stop. I knew he was pushing it, but I wanted more and more. I wanted to fly and I didn't care about the landing and I didn't care about the other people in the car, not even my best friend and I know she was scared. I told him to keep going anyway.”

Jessie heard echoes of her own carelessness in the confession. “Oh, Lila,” Jessie said through tears she could feel on her cheeks. “Hug me hard.” As she stroked the girl's hair, she pictured herself, screaming alone through her empty life, hurtling at breakneck speed toward the next shallow thrill.

“You have to stop thinking it's all your fault,” she said. “You have to stop regretting the things in the past that you can't change. Every kid in the car that night played a part. Something bad happened, something you'll remember all your life, but you've got to quit blaming yourself.”

“Everybody else found Jesus,” Lila wailed. “They've all been forgiven. I tried that, I really did, but it felt so phony—”

“Because maybe for you, it is. Ah, Lila. Trust me when I say this. You'll find more grace and redemption in baking cookies and building a sandbox than you'd get from holding hands and singing songs with those kids.”

She sniffled and burrowed closer to Jessie. “How do you know?”

“I know. I'm absolutely right and I will not let you move a muscle until you admit it.” Jessie stroked her hair some more, putting together the things Lila hadn't told her about the memorial. “You did this, didn't you?”

“Did what?” Lila pulled back and settled against the arm of the couch.

Jessie grinned with pride. “Don't be modest. You know what I mean. You organized this whole thing—the fundraiser, the ceremony, the sandbox. And you're going to serve these cookies which, by the way, are so good they are probably illegal in most states. My Lord, Lila. You're as good a cook as your mother.”

The word hovered in the air between them.

“How could you do it?” Lila asked her baldly. “How could you give me away?”

Jessie took a deep breath and said, “She is the best person I know, Lila. She always has been. When I gave you to her, I gave you a place to grow roots and a family to nurture you. Hell, I know they drive you crazy, but you wouldn't trade them for the world.”

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like, if you had kept me?”

Jessie nodded. “Every day. For me, it would have been wonderful, bringing you along wherever the job took me. But even as young as I was, I knew that was no life for a child.”

She gestured at the big room which she knew was cluttered with the flotsam and jetsam of a busy family—toys, books, dishes, shoes, mail…life. “This is what I wanted for you, Lila. I know it doesn't always makes sense now, but—”

“Lila?” Scottie came in, the screen door smacking shut behind him.

“Hey, sport,” Lila said. Jessie knew she was dashing away tears, putting on a cheerful mask for her little brother. Just like Luz would do.

“Hi, Aunt Jessie. Hi, Flambeau.” Scottie clambered up onto the sofa. “Grandpa Stu says I need my life jacket if I'm going to fish with him off the dock.”

“I'll get it.” Lila dug around in the mudroom adjacent to the kitchen.

“Can you put it on me?” Scottie asked. “You're the only one who does it right.”

“You bet. Here, have a cookie while I fix this buckle.”

“These are good,” said Scottie. “As good as Mom's. Aunt Jessie, guess what? Lila let me sleep with her last night, right in the purple bed with her.”

Jessie grinned as she listened to the two of them together. She knew it was the first time Luz had spent the night away from Scottie. It didn't surprise her a bit that he'd turned to Lila. “Too cool. I never got to sleep in the purple bed.”

“I think you're all set, sport.”

“Okay. Lila?”

“Yeah?”

“I like your face.”

“Aw, Scottie. I like your face, too.”

After he left, Jessie was still smiling, though she felt a bittersweet ache in her heart. This was life at its finest, and she'd never allowed herself to truly taste it. She could picture Lila and Scottie together and vowed never to let their image slip away, no matter how much time passed. She felt Lila looking at her and said, “I rest my case.”

“Whatever.” A smile softened her voice.

“Lila? I want you to know that I've always loved you, every minute of your life. Do you know that?”

“I…guess.”

Jessie heard a world of uncertainty and terror in her tone. “It's okay. People who love each other still need to grow and change, and by now you know it sometimes hurts to grow, and the pain isn't always such a bad thing. It reminds us of how important some things are.” She clasped her hands behind her head. “So how did I do?”

She heard a decisive snap as Lila put the cookies in Tupper-ware boxes. “Look out, Dr. Phil.”

Laughter and the creak of fishing reels sounded in the distance. “Let me get the camera,” said Lila. They went out on the porch. Early spring sunshine warmed the morning air. Jessie caught the scent of roses and knew it was from Luz's ancient rosebush.

“Aunt Jessie, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What can you see? I mean, you turn and face things as though you can see them. Are you still able to see sometimes?”

“Everything that you consider vision is gone, love. I don't live in darkness. It's more like a veil of white smoke or fog.”

“You must miss it a lot.”

“I'd be lying if I said I didn't. But I don't lie around all day, raging against my lost sight. I promise, I don't. You have to swear you'll never feel sorry for me, and never let anyone else pity me, either.”

“Okay.” Lila paused awkwardly. “I've been meaning to try this telephoto lens. Can you show me how to switch it?”

“You bet. Good choice. It lets you compress your perspective.” Jessie had switched lenses in the dark so often, she didn't need to see as she showed Lila what to do.

Eagerly Lila took some shots of the boys fishing.

“Take a picture of your mom's rosebush,” Jessie suggested.

“How did you know it's blooming?”

Jessie grinned. “Magic.” Then she switched lenses again, choosing the 100 mm portrait lens. That was Luz's favorite lens style. Jessie wondered if Lila knew that.

“Aunt Jessie?”

“Yeah, love?”

“What are you going to do?”

Jessie should have been prepared for the blunt question, but
of course she wasn't. “Well. I suppose I need to figure out a life for myself. I know I'll be a writer. I like it, and it would make me a member of an elite group—John Milton, James Joyce, James Thurber.”

“Who are they?”

“Blind writers. Jeez, what do they teach you in school these days?” Jessie paused. “I can't hear you shrugging your shoulders, but I know you're doing it.”

“Why can't you stay in Edenville?”

“I don't know how to stay in one place. I've never done it before.”

“But you are so amazing. You went blind and you totally figured out how to do stuff. How can anything be harder than that? I know you love us, Aunt Jessie. I know you love Dusty and Amber.”

The challenge lay before her, and for the first time, Jessie felt a glimmer of possibility. It was remarkable, she thought, to realize how expressive the human voice could be. She could hear the emotion in Lila's voice, the worry…and the hope.

The click of a shutter broke the silence. “I took your picture,” Lila said. “It'll be a beauty.”

And it would, Jessie acknowledged. She knew she was smiling.