The Color of Heaven (16 page)

smel s quite right or tastes the way it should. It’s a huge body of water, but it’s fresh, so there’s no salt on your lips or skin. There’s an almost disturbing absence of smel once you get out far enough.” He rested his arm along the back of the bench. “It’s nice, but it’s not the same as this.”

“I never thought of that before,” I said, though I was deeply aware of the sensuality of this day.

“I guess when you grow up by the sea,” he said, “it’s in your blood. You can never get away from it. It’s a part of you.”

“Doesn’t that make you want to move home,” I asked, “and spend your life on the coast?”

Lately I had been finding it difficult to imagine returning to Camden after graduation and settling down forever in my hometown. But if Matt was

there, if I could see him every day, I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

“Yes. Desperately.”

Surprised by his answer, I frowned. “Then why don’t you do it? Just pack up and come home.”

He didn’t respond at first. It was as if he wanted to ignore the question. Then after a while, he leaned back on an arm and looked down at the plate

of sandwiches. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why?”

He gave me a long look and shook his head, tel ing me without words that he didn’t want to talk about it.

I didn’t push, despite the fact that I was burning with curiosity about his life in Chicago. What was keeping him there? It had to be something. Or

some
one
. I felt a sudden stab of jealousy, imagining that there might be a woman in his life, even though he’d already told me there wasn’t.

I told myself to be patient. There was time. He would reveal things when he was ready.

We finished eating the sandwiches and changed the subject to books. We talked about the novels we’d read over the years, and Matt opened up

about the short stories he’d written and the novel he’d begun. He told me it was about a boy who had been orphaned and found an unlikely father

figure in an old man who swept the streets of New York.

Again, I encouraged him to finish it.

“Maybe,” he said. “We’l see.”

The waves lapped up against the hul , and the seagul s circled over the boat. I couldn’t remember the last time I had indulged myself in the magic of a day like this. The whole world seemed to be singing a rhapsody, vibrating with a special energy.

Oh, how I had missed Matt. I hadn’t truly realized it until that moment. Over the past six years, I had blocked out the memory of the contentment I had known when we were together as children, because I was forever grieving the loss of it. It was as if, on the day Matt left Camden, half of my heart

had been torn away.

With him, he had taken the part of me that could experience this sort of euphoria.

Al at once, I wanted overwhelmingly to be closer to him, to slide across the bench and curl into his arms. I’d always wanted it, even when we were

children, but I hadn’t completely understood the foundation of those desires. I had not understood that my feelings, even then, were sexual.

There was no denying it now. Here I sat, stuck head-to-wind in this flashing moment in time. In one direction, there was safety on the shore –
Peter
–

and in the other, there was Matt. He was the vast unknown with al its unpredictable dangers – the riptides and icebergs. Storms and breakers.

Matt gulped down the rest of his wine, then let the empty glass dangle from his fingertips as he looked out at the choppy Atlantic.

“Looks like there’s a fog rol ing in.” He rose to his feet. “Do you see it?”

I stood up as wel . “Yes. I can feel the chil .”

“We should probably head back.”

He faced me and reached out to take my empty wine glass. Our fingers touched briefly, and I felt it like an electric jolt through my body. I believe he felt it, too, because he stood there for the longest moment, staring into my eyes.

My lips parted. My heart began to race. I wanted to say something, but what? There were no words to describe what I felt or what I wanted. Al I

knew was that I was overcome by a desire so profound, no amount of self-discipline or control was powerful enough to stop it.

The boat lifted and I swayed toward him. It was al he needed. Matt stepped forward and pul ed me into his arms. He held me close for a brief,

tenuous moment while my heart beat wildly in my chest, then his mouth col ided rashly with mine.

He tasted of freedom and ecstasy. My whole body quickened at the connection as his hands roamed over my hips and across my back, the lush

heat of his mouth like a balm to my starving, raging senses. Disoriented and trembling, I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and held on

tight, clutching at his jacket, wanting so much more than either of us had ever intended to take or give.

He bent his head and kissed the side of my neck until I was near to weeping with joy and misery, for I wanted him with a mad desperation.

“Oh, Matt,” I sighed.

He tried to end it, to pul away, but couldn’t. Instead, he held me close in his arms and touched his forehead to mine.

“God, Cora.” The boat bobbed gently beneath our feet. “I should never have come here.”

“Don’t say that. I wanted this.”

“But I promised myself I wouldn’t touch you.”

Frustration flooded through me, because I had been absolutely wil ing to dive into this headfirst, and was
still
wil ing. Consequences meant nothing to me now.

“Why?” I asked. “Because of Peter?”

“I told you before, I don’t want to complicate your life. I’m not the one for you.”

I sucked in a breath to speak, but he cut me off. “You know I’m not the type to stick around. I’ve never stayed with a job for more than a year. I can’t finish a book I started five years ago. We both know what kind of person I am. I’m not steady, and you deserve better.” He dropped his hands to his

sides. “It’s time to go back.”

He turned to gather up the plates and the empty wine bottle, and just like that, the bond between us snapped. The passion in his eyes disappeared,

smothered by what, I had no idea. Fear, perhaps. Concern for my welfare. Maybe even his loyalty to an old friend he hadn’t seen in six years.

Or was it simply as he said – a natural inability to commit to anyone or anything? A deficiency that he would never overcome? Perhaps he didn’t

want
to overcome it. Maybe he preferred his freedom. Maybe he would always grow bored with anything that became too familiar.

Maybe that was why I was so attracted to him. Because he was unattainable.

I couldn’t speak. Al I could do was move about methodical y to help rig the boat.

Together, in silence, we drew up the anchor and hoisted the sails, and said very little to each other as the wind took us back to more familiar

waters, and eventual y back to dry land.

Matt was distant during the sunset drive back to Wel esley – so distant that he barely spoke to me. He kept his eyes fixed on the road, and when we

came to a set of lights and had to stop, he reached across for a package of cigarettes in the glove compartment.

He didn’t look at me as he dug into his pocket for a pack of matches, nor did he ask whether I minded if he smoked. He lit the cigarette and

dragged on it with relief – as if he’d been waiting al day to do just that – then he shook the flame from the match and dropped it into the ashtray.

He draped a wrist over the steering wheel and hung the other arm out the window. “Come on, come on,” he said impatiently to the traffic light while

the cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

It was the first time I had seen him smoke since he’d re-entered my life. I had forgotten that he’d ever taken up the habit.

I rol ed down my window. “So what are your plans for the rest of the week?” I asked.

“Don’t know.”

He switched on the radio. The light turned green; he stepped on the gas. We drove out of town, farther away from the sea until I could no longer hear it or smel any trace of it.

I sat back in the seat and said nothing. He made no effort, either, to initiate any conversation.

A chil wind blew in through the open window. The scarlet light of the evening cast a queer glow on the trees at the side of the road. Matt turned the silver knob on the radio, pushed through noisy, obnoxious static, found music, and turned up the volume.

We drove for miles in silence. Eventual y I just pretended to be asleep.

By the time we arrived back at Wel esley, it was ful dark. Matt turned onto the campus. I reached over without asking and switched off the radio. It was quiet at last.

“Why don’t you pul over right here,” I brusquely said, feeling a powerful urge to hit something. “I can walk the rest of the way.”

I didn’t want him to drop me off at the main doors because I knew I would need time to wrestle with my mood before I faced anyone.

I also needed a few final minutes to chastise myself for becoming infatuated with Matt after a mere two days in his company. Hadn’t I learned a long

time ago that he was not capable of finishing what he began? It was why he left Camden. He could not manage the long haul of personal

relationships or commitments. His personality could go from hot to cold in the space of a single heartbeat. He was fickle. When anything became

too familiar, he was no longer interested.

What was I thinking, imagining that what I felt for him was more meaningful than what I had with Peter? Peter wanted to marry me. He wanted to

commit to me for the rest of his life. He had been my constant, devoted friend since we were children. He had never strayed from that friendship,

and my happiness and wel -being meant everything to him.

He had even warned me about Matt. He’d wanted to protect me as he always did, because he loved me. He had been sensible and prudent, as

always.

Matt pul ed over under an oak tree. He did not turn off the car, which only fuel ed the fires of my hostility. He made no mention of seeing me again, nor did he thank me for spending the day with him. He stared straight ahead, as if I had offended him in some way.

I suppose I had – for I al owed myself to adore him.

A single oak leaf floated down through the air like a feather onto the windshield.

I wrapped my hand around the door handle and thought about getting out with a mere, “See you around,” but couldn’t do it. It was not my way. Unlike

Matt, I communicated my feelings, and I was going to be very frank.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” I said, “but you haven’t spoken one word to me since we left Marblehead, and I want you to know how

disappointed I am. I thought we had a nice time today, but now you’ve ruined it.”

He final y looked at me.

“Did you think I was going to expect something from you?” I asked. “Is that what you’re afraid of, that I might want a promise from you, or a marriage proposal? Have you been trying to tel me – in your own rude, cowardly way – that you’re not interested? Wel , you needn’t worry, Matt, because I

know you better than that. I know how quickly you get bored, how you hate to be boxed in. I know enough not to expect
anything
from you.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swal owed. He said nothing for a few seconds, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “You should probably go.”

He might as wel have hit me in the face with a basebal bat.

Fighting tears, I picked up my bag, opened the door and got out. “You real y are an ass, Matt. Do you know that? I never wanted to believe it before, even when Peter told me I couldn’t trust you, but I guess I have no choice now. But I’m not letting you leave without tel ing you that you have broken my heart, because I never cared for anyone the way I cared for you. I thought we were the same, but now I have to accept that we’re not. Because

I’m not like you. I don’t shut out the people I love.”

I slammed the door and turned away, then let the tears gush from my eyes. Quickly, I made my way across the dark lawn in the direction of my dorm.

I didn’t al ow myself to look back and see if he had driven away, even though, to my eternal chagrin, there was a part of me that hoped he would

come running after me and tel me he was sorry, and plead with me to forgive him.

If Peter were here, he would tel me not to entertain such foolish hopes – that no, we could not be friends, because Matt could not be trusted. I was better off never seeing him again. For as long as I lived.

I stopped suddenly and wiped the exasperating tears from my cheeks. I could not walk into my dorm like this. I had to stop crying and catch my

breath.

A car door slammed.

I turned around.

Matt was striding across the lawn toward me, with long, purposeful strides.

Oh, God…

My heart throbbed painful y in my chest. I couldn’t breathe through my embarrassing shuddering sobs.

A part of me wondered if I should take off and run in the other direction. Then al at once he was upon me, backing me up against a tree, taking me

into his arms and crushing his lips to mine.

I dropped my bag with a thud. My arms flew around his neck. It was like being swept out to sea. I couldn’t find the resolve to kick against the current, because despite everything, I stil wanted him with a passion that overcame reason.

I have no idea how long we stood up against that tree, kissing in the darkness while his hands explored my body, as if the world were coming to an

end.

Final y he dragged his lips from mine. “
I’m so sorry
.”

Stunned and emotional y drained, I blinked up at him.

“I never should have come to see you,” he said. “It was selfish. I shouldn’t have taken you sailing today. I should have just left it.”

“But why?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Something was wrong. I could feel it. We had shared so much over the past few days. There had to be a reason why he pushed me away like this,