Solomon's Sieve (5 page)

“I’ll be here.” He repeated it in his head. He loved the sound of that. Sure and steady. His girl was somebody who could be counted on. Grounded. Mature. Ready for whatever came. She was so perfect he was sure she must have been made for him in some grand metaphysical scheme of things.

It was early morning when he made it back to the yellow beach cottage. Farnsworth wasn’t dressed yet. She was standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee, her hair down and falling around her shoulders, wearing her navy blue Japanese silk robe. And Sol thought the smile she gave when she looked up to find him standing on the deck on the other side of the sliding glass door was by far the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

He grabbed her before she’d opened the door all the way and backed her up to the kitchen counter with her giggling like a teenager. When he lifted her up and stepped inside her thighs, she gasped.

“Solomon, The door.
Anybody
could climb the stairs and walk up to the back door the same way you just did.”

“Then let’s give ‘em a show,” he growled into her neck.

They spent the rest of the day driving each other to exhaustion, like they were trying to make up for not having been together since they were young. When it started getting dark, Sol made pasta while Farnsworth – still in her robe, took a shower and changed. He lit a fire and was going to open a bottle of wine, but couldn’t find the opener.

When she came in, hair still damp at the ends even after blow drying, he stopped and stared like he hadn’t seen her before.

“What?”

A corner of his mouth went up. “Sorry. I guess I just, uh, like all your looks.”

She seemed embarrassed, like she wasn’t used to getting compliments on her appearance. Her eyes drifted toward the stove. “Smells good.” She looked at the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. “The Red Guitar. It’s my favorite. How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess? Oh. Where’s the wine opener?”

She moved toward a drawer that hadn’t opened when he tried it. “I keep the opener and the family heirlooms in the trick drawer.” He watched as she demonstrated the key. “You have to kick the baseboard underneath the bottom cabinet and pull at the same time.”

The drawer slid right out for her like magic.

He reached in for the wine opener not being able to help noticing the contents. “Family heirlooms huh?”

Shaking her head she looked at the drawer. “Well, the ice cream scooper did come from my grandmother’s.”

“Then I guess she made an honest woman out of you.” She laughed. “So how did you figure that out?”

“I didn’t. The realtor showed it to me when I took possession of the house.” Sol looked back at the drawer. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how many different things the former owners tried before they came up with that.”

“That
is
what I was thinking.” He let his eyes drift lazily down the front of her creamy knit sweater. “Know what I’m thinking now?”

“Hold on, Mister.”

He gave her that sardonic grin that never failed to make her heart stutter. “That’s Sovereign,” he said as he leaned closer.

“I’m hungry. Love slaves have to be fed.”

He leaned back on his heels and cocked his head to the side. “Is that negotiable?”

“Feed me.”

“Beg.”

“Please.”

“Oh. All right.” He turned back to the stove. “Now look what you made me do. The pasta is mushy.”

She started laughing. “I
made
you do that?”

“Yes. You came in here teasing me with shiny wavy hair and skin flushed from a hot shower and showed me tricks with a drawer. And all the while you were talking dirty.”

“I was talking dirty?”

“You kept saying family jewels.”

“I said no such thing. One time I said family heirlooms.”

“Jewels. Heirlooms. Same thing.”

“They are not!”

“I’ll show you mine…”

“Do I have to go down the road for takeout?”

“…
you show me yours.”

“Or maybe I need to call 911.” He smiled. “I thought men your age were supposed to slow down in that department.”

He smiled bigger. “Who would have thought a woman your age could get me so hard? And keep me that way?”

She blinked. “Mushy pasta is okay with me.”

“You want me to go get you takeout?”

“Just put something in my mouth.” He leered. “YOU KNOW PERFECTLY WELL WHAT I MEAN!”

He flipped the dishtowel over his shoulder, poured a touch of olive oil over the ziti and swirled it around the colander like he did it every day. He dumped generous portions onto two plates, used tongs to deposit grilled chicken strips on top of that, covered it with marinara and green peppers, then topped it off with shredded parmesan.

When the plate was set before her and a glass of her favorite red was poured, she inhaled the steam and gave him a smile that was all the gratitude he needed. Sol sat down across from her and waited with anticipation while she paired a bit of chicken with two pieces of ziti to make one forkful. She put it in her mouth then immediately closed her eyes and began making yummy sounds.

“Stop.”

Her eyes flew open. She chewed quickly and swallowed. “Stop what?”

“Stop making those sexy humming noises if you want to get through dinner.”

She chuckled. “Have I ever told you that you’re the best thing that has ever happened to my ego?”

As soon as she had finished the last morsel on the plate, Sol moved her to the couch in front of the fire where he made love to her as slowly as if he thought it would be the last time ever. Something about it made her want to cry, but she didn’t. Farnsworth was not a crier. But she recorded the feeling and promised herself that she would take it out and look at it another time. An emotion potent enough to threaten tears was worthy of pondering further.

Later Sol covered them both with a blanket, but they stayed pressed against each other, skin to skin, as they talked about their future in hushed tones with the rest of the world far, far away.

After a while he slid off the couch and strode off toward the kitchen looking for the jacket left by the door.

He’d left Farnsworth watching him walk away in the full bounty of nakedness. She was constantly amazed at how the only signs of age on his body were the gray around the temples, the deep set crinkles around his eyes and the permanent vertical “perfectionist” lines between his brows. If viewing him from the neck down, a person would guess twenty years younger.

She was lost in appreciating and applauding his strong youthful body when he returned and knelt beside the couch. She hadn’t moved. She was waiting to welcome him back into their blanketed cocoon of a love nest.

Pinched between his fingers was a ring that he held up at her eye level. “Fa…, uh, Susan. Marry me.”

She looked at the ring. Farnsworth wasn’t materialistic and wouldn’t have cared if it was a cigar wrapper, but she was a woman and it was sparkling in the firelight like it was a living thing, just inches in front of her eyes. She couldn’t avoid looking at it.

It was perfect. A five carat marquis cut solitaire on a simple white gold band. She didn’t know much about diamonds, but she’d read enough to know that diamonds that pick up all the colors and lights in the room and reflect them back like a prism… well, that’s as good as a diamond gets. It had robbed her of her identity as an intelligent independent woman and reduced her to a creature who was mesmerized by a shiny object.

Wielding a rock that size might take some getting used to, but she decided she was up to the challenge and wanted Sol to believe that, of all the rings in the world, it was the very one she would have chosen for herself.

Her hesitation was starting to make Sol anxious and self-conscious. “I hope it’s right. I thought it looked like you. The guy in the store said it’s simply elegant, simply unique and I said, ‘Yeah. That’s her. That’s definitely her.’”

As fantastic as the ring was, the compliment was even better.

Farnsworth’s eyes slid to his as she swallowed the golf ball size lump that had formed in her throat. She didn’t speak, but didn’t hesitate either. She just nodded and smiled as she sat up, took his hand and guided it toward her ring finger. Little did he know that he would have made her happy with a proposal and a cereal box prize.

“Move over,” he chuckled as she made room for him to nestle back into his place. “Let’s do it before we go back.”

He was too close to see the surprise on her face.

“Do what?”

“Get married.”

“What?”

“We could pack up tonight. Go to Las Vegas tomorrow and we’d be back before my deadline.”

“Solomon. I may be middle aged, but I still have a mother who would never forgive me if she didn’t get to attend her only daughter’s wedding.”

“We could bring her along?”

She laughed and pushed his shoulder. “Stop.”

He kissed her softly and lowered his voice. “So you need a big to do.”

“No. Just a few people.” She planted a row of kisses on his collar bone. “I know for a fact that you have a few people who would be livid if you left them out.”

He blinked a few times. “Who?”

“You really don’t know there are people who care about you? B Team, for instance. Glen.”

“Pffffft.” She nuzzled her face into his neck. “Those fakers have got you believing that?” She smiled against his skin and subtly inhaled his scent at the same time. “Okay, but soon? I’m too old for long engagements.”

Raising up so she could see his face, she planted a kiss on his chin. “Soon.”

“Next month.”

“What’s the rush, Sol? Are you worried about something?”

“Baby. Things are going to get busier than ever before, maybe out of hand.”

Farnsworth had worked at Jefferson Unit long enough to know that “busy” was code for “dangerous”.

“Okay, next month. Maybe they’d let us use the chapel on base? It would be just the right size.”

“Sure. I can arrange that.” He squeezed her in his arms. “I can’t wait. You want to marry me as much as I want to marry you?”

She shook her head back and forth against his chest, but said, “I do.” She felt as much as heard the rumble of his soft laughter. They lay together in the companionable silence of true lovers for a while. “What are you thinking?”

“Um?”

“You’re stalling. What exactly was on your mind when I asked the question?”

“I was wondering how different our lives would have been if we’d found each other when we were young. If, maybe, we would have had children.”

Her flinch at the word “children” was slight, but she was pressed so close to him that there was no mistaking it. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“It was something. Tell me.”

“I…”

He rearranged their bodies so that she was tucked under him, so that he could see every emotion and reaction on her face. “There’s nothing you will ever tell me that will make me feel differently about you or love you less. One of the things I love about the fact that we both work for The Order is that there’s no reason for secrets between us.

“So much about our lives revolves around keeping secrets, it would be good to know that when we’re together, we’re in a truth zone.”

The fact that she knew what sort of man he was and knew that she could trust and believe him didn’t really make it any easier. “I had a baby. A girl. I was sixteen.”

Sol’s eyes softened in sympathy. He gently moved a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her softly on the cheek, encouraging her to continue.

“My parents were trying to do the best thing for me. They were loving and supportive and took me to an agency that counsels girls in, uh, that situation.” She stopped for a minute. Sol waited patiently, but lifted his head so she would know he wanted to hear the rest. “The counselors laid out my options, but they made such a good case for adoption that I ended up feeling like the worse thing I could do for my baby was to keep it. They swore that my baby would have the best life possible, parents with good values and good resources who wanted a baby more than anything and would give mine the world.”

She paused again, while a lone silent tear slid out of the corner of her eye and downward toward her ear. “I thought I was doing the best thing. The right thing. When she was born I didn’t get to see her or hold her. I asked and they said she was a girl.”

Sol cleared his throat and swallowed. “And you regret the decision.”

“Every hour of every day. She’ll be twenty-eight soon.”

Looking at the wishful and wistful expression on her face, he had to ask, “Have you thought about looking for her?”

“Of course, but what would I say? I was so young that my brain wasn’t fully developed yet? I thought I was doing the right thing, but I wasn’t and by the time I understood that it was too late?”