Sleeping With the Enemy (13 page)

“On the other hand,” she said wickedly, “maybe I could toss them a bone or two.  After all, I’d really hate to be responsible for disappointing anybody.”

***

During one of her exploratory forays into the nooks and crannies of the old house, Rose happened upon the room above the garage.

A hundred years ago, when the house had been built, the detached garage had been a barn, and the overhead space had been a hayloft.  But at some point in time, somebody had converted that space into a cozy efficiency apartment whose
pièce de resistance
was the twelve-foot-long dormer built into the wall overlooking the river.  Four broad multi-paned windows lined the wall, transforming what had once been a dark hayloft into a charming, sunny space that captivated Rose immediately.  With all that natural light, it would make an ideal painting studio.  The walls were plain white and could use a coat of paint to cover up the dings and dents left by a previous tenant, and the place desperately needed to be swept and scrubbed.  But it was heated, there was a small kitchen area with a countertop, open shelves, and a sink, and there was even a half-bath tucked into a corner beneath the eaves. 

The most enticing feature was the breathtaking view of the river and the mountains that stood sentinel in the distance.  The scene enchanted her, and would probably be so distracting that she would never get any painting done.  On the other hand, the mountains, with their ever-changing moods, colors, and shading, made a dynamic subject for painting.  Suddenly, excitement gripped her, and she couldn’t wait to talk to Jesse about it.

That night, as soon as the dishes were cleared from the kitchen table, Mikey pulled a box from a shelf in the pantry and carried it to the table.  “What’s that?” Luke said.

Mikey set the box on the table.  “Monopoly,” he said.  “It’s game night.”

Devon turned from the sink, dish cloth in hand, her mouth pursed in a grim line.  “Game night? What is game night?”

Her stepbrother opened the box, took out the game board, and opened it on the table top.  “In this house, it’s a tradition.  Dad and I have been doing game night every Saturday for as long as I can remember.”

Devon rolled her eyes in disgust and said, “How lame can you get?”

At this point, Jesse stepped into the conversation.  Casually, he said, “Actually, we were hoping you’d want to join us.  As a family thing.”

Under her breath, Devon muttered, “Family bonding.  How charming.”

“I’ll play,” Luke said amiably.  “You just happen to be looking at the Monopoly champ of the MacKenzie clan.  I can whip the pants off any of you with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Oh,” Mikey said, jumping to the challenge.  “You think so, do you? You haven’t played against me yet, my man.”

Luke rubbed his hands together.  “Step aside.  Make room for me at that table.”

“Rose?” Jesse said.

She was tired, and she’d hoped to talk to him tonight about the room over the garage.  But the room could wait; what he was trying to accomplish was more important.  “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” she said, and Jesse rewarded her with a smile that made her toes curl.   

“Devon?” he said.  “Are you in or out?”

Devon’s head was lowered, and she was scrubbing at a saucepan so vigorously that Rose feared she would remove the non-stick coating.  She turned on the tap and rinsed the pan, then set it in the dish drainer on the sideboard.  With a long-suffering sigh, she muttered, “Whatever.”

And Jesse shot Rose a quick wink.

***

Sunday dawned warm and sunny, a glorious blue and gold Indian summer day, and Henry Lamoreau’s get-together was held on the backyard patio, which Henry’s wife had decorated with pumpkins, hanging gourds, and corn stalks tied into upright bundles.  It was all very homey, very kitschy, and while the cynical side of her wanted to laugh at it, another side of Rose, the side that longed for the comfort of her mother’s kitchen, responded with surprising warmth to Wilma Lamoreau’s cow-patterned kitchen décor and the miniature teddy-bear-shaped guest soaps in the bathroom.

Although everyone was friendly, their eyes were bright with curiosity, and Rose began to understand how the animals on display at the zoo must feel. 
Femma exotica
, she thought wryly. 
Bright of plumage, its migratory patterns generally limited to the southern New England area.  Rarely seen in western Maine’s rural small towns. 
She smiled politely to everyone she was introduced to, gracefully fielded questions about how she was adjusting to life in the sticks, and ignored the covert glances that passed from one pair of eyes to another, glances that clearly said, “We give her a year.  If that.”

She finally managed to escape, found herself an empty lawn chair in an out-of-the-way alcove, and settled down with an icy glass of Coke.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her eyelids.

“Getting to you, is it?”

Rose opened her eyes.  The woman who had spoken was tall and lean, dressed in a sleek black jumpsuit that was a tad more sophisticated than anything she’d seen so far here in Jackson Falls.  Juggling the glass of beer she held, the woman thrust out her free hand and said, “We haven’t met yet.  Paula Fournier.”

“Rose Lindstrom.  Do you teach?”

“Christ, no.” Taking care not to spill her drink, Paula pulled up a lawn chair and lowered her lanky body into it.  “I’d never survive a day shut in a room with thirty adolescent monsters.” She leaned back and crossed her long legs.  “I’m a lawyer.  Or I used to be.  I practiced criminal law for six years in Manhattan.  Nowadays, I mostly shuffle kids back and forth to soccer practice and take on the occasional case so my mind won’t atrophy beyond repair.  It’s my other half who works for Lamoreau.” She glanced affectionately toward a dark-haired man who stood talking with Jesse.  “Chuck Fournier, the one over there talking to your husband.  Aside from being eye candy of the highest order, he is, single-handedly, the history department at Jackson Falls High.”

While Rose watched, Henry Lamoreau walked up to the two men, said something that made them both laugh, then pulled out a snowy white handkerchief and mopped his shiny pate. 

“Nice to meet you,” she said to Paula.  “If you ask me how I like Jackson Falls so far, I may pour this drink over your head.”

Paula grinned.  “A little intense, is it?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh, yes, I do.  Ten years ago, I was where you are now.  Newly married and transplanted from my comfortable and civilized life to this frontier town out in the williwacks.  I was madly in love with Chuck, but the minute he walked out the door every morning, I thought I’d go crazy from the boredom.”

Rose settled more comfortably into her chair.  “You’re not wearing a straitjacket,” she said.  “What’s your secret?”

Paula leaned back in her chair and gazed up at the blue sky above them.  “Believe it or not,” she said, “this place grows on you after a while.  I hate like hell to sound like a cliché, but there you have it.  I lived for six years in the city.  My apartment was broken into three times.  My best friend was mugged on the subway on her way home from work.  The entire city was held hostage by striking sanitation workers.  Around here, the streets are clean, the air is pure, the scenery is breathtaking, and the crime rate is virtually nonexistent.  What it lacks in culture, it makes up for in security and charm.” She grinned.  “Of course, security and charm can lose their attraction when you’re buried under sixteen inches of snow and you can’t even get to the grocery store.  Or when you’re reminded that the nearest Chinese restaurant is twenty miles away and run by a guy named Wong-Lee Malone.”

Rose returned her grin.  “So tell me, how long will it take for the locals to accept me?”

“Sweetie, you’re from Away.  The disgrace never rubs off.  Your grandchildren will still wear the shameful label of outsider, although it will be softened somewhat by the fact that the Lindstroms have been here since the town was settled.  Know what they say around these parts? Just because the cat has kittens in the oven, that doesn’t make them biscuits.”

Paula’s dry sense of humor and wonderfully outrageous stories were the highlight of Rose’s afternoon.  When Jesse finally came looking for her, she couldn’t believe she’d been talking to the woman for nearly two hours, couldn’t believe the ease with which they’d clicked.  Before she left, she and Paula exchanged phone numbers and made plans to get together some Saturday for lunch and shopping in Portland.

Although the day had been warm, the air had grown chilly with the approach of October’s early dusk.  Rose drew her sweater closer around her and leaned back against the Honda’s passenger seat to admire the deep purples and soft corals of sunset.  “Tired?” Jesse said.

“Mmn.” She closed her eyes, feeling surprisingly mellow.  “Now that I’ve made my debut into Jackson Falls society, do you think the talk will die down? Or did we just add more fuel to the fire?”

“Hard to judge.  But I dare say they’ll be watching us closely for a year, or two, or ten.”

Eyes still closed, she smiled.  “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.  Would you have any objection to me setting up a painting studio in the room over the garage?”

He paused for the stop light at the corner of Main Street and Mountain Road, and shot a quick glance in her direction.  “I didn’t know you painted.”

She felt herself flushing.  “I don’t.  I mean, not in years.  I used to, but I gave it up a long time ago.  I’ve been thinking of starting up again.”

“Of course you can use the room.  We’ll set it up with whatever you need.  The light’s great in there.  And if the kids drive you crazy, you can just lock the door and ignore their knocking.”

By the time they reached home, afternoon had turned to evening.  Jesse turned off the car and they sat in the darkness, silent except for the soft lapping of the river against the shore.  To the east, a brilliant harvest moon was just beginning to peek over the horizon.  Jesse leaned back and rested an arm along the back of her seat.  “I thought things went pretty well last night,” he said.  “Devon had a good time in spite of herself.”

“She should have had a good time,” Rose said dryly.  “She ended up with all the money.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.  “Pretty sharp, isn’t she?”

“Like a pair of surgical scissors.  And she knows just which buttons to push to make me absolutely crazy.”

“It comes with the territory.  It’ll pass.” He wrapped a single strand of her hair around his finger, watched it spring back into place.  “Luke seems pretty adaptable.”

She turned her head, studied his profile in the moonlight.  “To Luke, life is a big adventure.  I envy him sometimes.”

“Life is whatever we make it.”

“Yeah.  Right.”

Awareness turned the air still and heavy between them, awareness of the attraction between them, awareness of their isolation, sitting in the dark in a twelve-year-old Honda Civic.  He touched her cheek, his hand rough and warm, and she felt a thrill start somewhere in the pit of her stomach.  It spread, warm and mellow, up through her chest and down the length of her arms and her legs.

And then somebody rapped on the window, and they both jumped sky-high.  Heart thudding, Rose cranked down the window.  Her daughter was standing next to the car, her arms wrapped around her to ward off the evening’s chill.  “Sorry to scare you,” Devon said.  “But I thought you’d better come in right away.  Mikey’s running a fever of 102, and he just threw up all over the bathroom floor.”

***

It was a good thing she had extensive mommy training, because Jesse took a single look into the bathroom and turned the color of wallpaper paste.  “I’m sorry,” he said, backing away from the door, “but I’ve never been very good at this kind of thing.”

“He’s sixteen,” she said, eyeing Mikey, hunched over the toilet bowl.  “He must have been sick at some point in his life.  What did you do then?”

Mikey raised his head and wiped his face with a wet cloth.  “He usually calls Aunt Trish,” the boy said.

Rose ran a hand through her hair and sighed.  “Leave,” she said.  “Go.  I’ll take care of this.”

She didn’t have to say it again.  Her new husband disappeared in record time.  “Coward,” she muttered, as Mikey bent over the toilet and heaved once again.

It was a long night, nearly three a.m. before Mikey’s stomach finally settled down.  Rose tucked him into bed, left him with an emergency bucket and a clean wet cloth, then fell into bed, depleted.  She woke grainy-eyed and headachy when Jesse got up for the day.  “Stay in bed,” he said.  “I’ll take the kids to school.”

But true sleep eluded her.  She slept and woke, slept and woke, her waking moments interspersed with patchy and bizarre dreams.  By eight-thirty, she knew she’d caught whatever miserable bug had Mikey in its grip.  Her stomach felt like she’d been kicked by an angry mule.  There was a violent pounding in her head, and her joints had that achy feeling that always accompanied the onset of a fever.

At nine o’clock, Jim Davidson called from Lighthouse to invite her in for an interview.  “I’d love an interview,” she said.  “But right now, I have the flu.”

“It’s goin’ around,” he said in a Southern accent as potent as turpentine.  “The schools are full of it.”

“The way my life has been going lately, why am I surprised?”

“It doesn’t last long,” he said cheerfully.  “Just two, three days.  Want to try for Thursday?”

“You’re not worried about catching it?”

“I have two daughters in Jackson Falls Elementary.  I’m pretty sure I’ve already been exposed.”

She and Mikey spent the day sharing the couch, watching soap operas and game shows and taking turns in the bathroom.  When she could take no more of the inanity of daytime television, she said, “Do you know how to play poker?”

He shook his head no.

“Want to learn? I can only take so much of
As the World Turns
.”

When Jesse and the kids came back home, she and Mikey were embroiled in a ruthless game of blackjack.  “I’m corrupting your son,” she told her husband.