The Second Silence (22 page)

After they’d gone a short distance Charlie turned to her and said, ‘I apologize for the way Bronwyn acted. She can be a little overprotective at times.’

‘Understandable. She’s had you all to herself all these years.’

He sighed. ‘It’s not easy raising a teenager on your own. Whatever I say or do, it seems like the wrong thing.’

Mary thought of Noelle. ‘Maybe it’s enough that you’re trying,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s all that really counts.’

The path wound in a narrow ribbon along the shore, except where occasionally swallowed up by dense woods. Charlie walked as if he’d know his way blindfolded, but Mary had to pick her way more slowly over the rocks and fallen branches. At one point, when she tripped and nearly fell, he grabbed her arm. Afterward, it seemed safer merely to hang on, though she was acutely aware of every awkward step that brought her bumping up against him.

When the path brought them nearly to the edge of the lake, they stopped for a moment to catch their breaths. Charlie pointed out the condos glimmering along the opposite shore, a raw gash of cleared land faintly visible beside it. ‘Last summer alone Van Doren & Sons slapped up fifty new units. And apparently there’s no end in sight.’ His voice was filled with disgust. They even got a variance to divert the creek that used to run through there. Of course it doesn’t hurt that practically everyone on the town council is a crony of our son-in-law.’

‘Can’t something be done to stop it?’

‘There’s nothing illegal about it—nothing anyone can prove, at any rate.’ In the moonlight Charlie’s face might have been carved of granite. ‘But I’m working on it, believe me. Starting next week, I’m running a series of editorials that are bound to get people talking.’

‘Sounds risky. Aren’t you afraid of getting sued?’

He shrugged. ‘I won’t be making any accusations. Just asking some questions that are sure to ruffle a few feathers.’

‘How is that going to help Noelle?’

Charlie gazed out over the lake, where moonlight rippled in narrow, glinting bands. Idly he said, ‘You know how they dredge for bodies? They throw a stick of dynamite in the water and see what floats to the surface.’

Mary shivered in the cool breeze that had kicked up. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t end up doing more harm than good.’

Charlie wrapped an arm about her shoulder, which only made her shiver harder. ‘Want to head back?’

‘In a few minutes. Let’s walk a little farther.’ She didn’t want the magic of this evening to end.

Clearly Charlie felt the same way. His arm remained tucked about her shoulders, kindling a warmth that even the rapidly descending chill of night did nothing to dispel. She leaned into his shoulder, truly contented for the first time in days. Had he dreamed of this, too? Lain awake nights, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and wondering if somewhere out there she was doing the same? It was wrong to indulge in such feelings, she knew. Wrong and dangerous.

Nevertheless, the pull was too strong. Somewhere, at the core of it all, she and Charlie were connected in a fundamental way. She’d known it since they were teenagers, and nothing in all the years since had weakened that sense of belonging. Walking beside him, her head nestled against his shoulder, she felt as if the blood that coursed through his veins were flowing directly into hers.

Charlie kissed the top of her head. A brush of lips, a whisper of breath, that traveled straight down through her like something warm that had been spilled. There was no longer any doubt where this was leading. A voice deep inside Mary urged her to turn back, but she ignored it. The tug toward Charlie was far greater, as elemental as the moon itself.

The path meandered inland, and they paused again to rest in a small clearing ringed with birch trees that glowed pale as limbs against the surrounding underbrush. Dandelions dotted the tall grass like tiny stars. The chirping of crickets sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness.

Mary found a boulder wide enough for the two of them to sit on. Her pulse was racing, but not from exertion. She felt excited and at the same time terrified of what waited not around the next bend but right here in this meadow, with its soft grass and perfect ring of trees like God’s thumbprint pressed into the landscape.

Looking around her, she marveled softly, ‘Why don’t I remember this place? I’m sure I must have walked through it a hundred times.’

‘Things always look different in the dark.’

Charlie brushed a stray pine needle from her hair, his fingertips grazing her temple. He was like a fever, inflaming her, causing her to grow weak. Filling her head with delirious imaginings. How could she ever have believed, even for one minute, that she’d found a substitute in those other men? There was no one like Charlie. There never had been, and there never would be.

Sitting down, she was even more acutely aware of his height for some reason. His lanky frame folded beside her. The shadow pooled at his feet. When he turned to take her in his arms, it felt as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the distant lapping of water in the stillness.

‘Mary,’ he said softly. Just that, her name. Like a prayer.

He cupped her face gently in his hands and kissed her. His mouth was warm, with a trace of sweet smokiness from supper. Mary yielded to it as she’d known all along she would, deep down, from the minute she’d laid eyes on Charlie, seated at her mother’s kitchen table. They would make love; that was part of God’s plan, too. Here on the grass, under the moon, with the crickets singing.

The feeling was so strong she had the sense of actually dissolving into him, like candy on the tongue or snowflakes falling against warm cheeks. In a rush it all came flooding back: how it had felt with him in the beginning, when they were sixteen, how not even the threat of hell, or her mother’s wrath (synonymous in her mind), could have kept her from Charlie’s arms.

Mary clung to him now, feeling long-dead senses awaken one by one. The brush of his fingers against her neck that brought an answering tug low in her belly. His mouth, which kissed with just the right combination of tenderness and urgency. When he gently lowered her onto the grass, she thought that if he were to stop right now, she would die. He might as well stop her from taking another breath.

But Charlie wasn’t stopping.

He undressed her slowly and with such care the act alone caused her to cry out, shivering with pleasure. ‘Mary, Mary,’ he whispered over and over. He kissed every patch of skin as it was laid bare. Only when she was naked did he pause to take off his own clothes.

‘Hurry,’ she whispered. Then: ‘No, don’t. Oh, God, Charlie, I want this to last forever.’

He spread his shirt over the ground. As she lay on it, Mary could feel spears of grass poking up through the soft, worn fabric. Kneeling over her, Charlie gazed down, tracing with his fingertips the curve of her belly and soft mound below.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her, as if seeing her for the very first time, as in a way he was. He dipped his head and brought his tongue to one nipple, a delicious shock that flooded her with warmth.

As he explored further, she moaned softly, stroking the back of his head. Then he was lowering himself onto her. The boy she’d known so intimately was now a mature man whose body she ached to explore: each clearly defined muscle and fascinating fold, each thrust that spoke of the control he’d mastered through the years.

‘Am I going too fast?’ he murmured at one point.

‘No, no, please, whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,’ she whispered back. It felt wrong and at the same time gloriously right. No rules, no inhibitions. Just the moon … the sweet sigh of the wind in the trees … and Charlie.

When it was over, he rolled over onto his back, and they lay side by side, letting the breeze dry their sweaty limbs, barely noticing the mosquitoes that hovered as if over a banquet. For a long while neither of them said anything. Mary was the first to speak.

‘Did we really think we were going to get away with it? Look but don’t touch?’ She laughed breathlessly at the idiocy of it.

She turned her head and found him gazing at her calmly, as if only one of them had been fooled, and it wasn’t Charlie. Even so, she knew it was crazy. This was exactly what had gotten them into so much trouble in the first place. Only now, thirty-one years later, they faced a different kind of challenge.

Charlie rolled onto his side, propping himself on an elbow. ‘I, for one, was under no such illusion.’ He smiled down at her, his head cradled against his palm.

‘Either way, we’re asking for trouble. I’m not going to stick around forever, you know.’

‘Call it a trip down memory lane then—if it makes you feel better.’

‘That’s safer at least.’

He plucked a blade of grass from beside her ear and chewed it thoughtfully. ‘There’s just one problem.’ He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkness, then gathered her in his arms and kissed her deeply. When he pulled back, he asked teasingly, ‘Does
that
feel like a thing of the past?’

She hesitated, her mouth inches from his. It wasn’t the past, or even the present, that was troubling her. With Charlie, it was the future that could do real harm. Soon, in a matter of days or weeks or months, the time would come to say good-bye. Once again it would be some other woman picking up the pieces when she was gone.

But that day would come soon enough, she decided. Tonight she would think only of this. Of Charlie. Of the lake glinting darkly through the trees and the grass beneath them, stubbornly pushing its way up through the ground.

She owed them both that much.

So Mary said nothing. She merely kissed him back, opening her mouth to him in a silent plea for forgiveness, all the longing in her heart rushing up to meet him.

CHAPTER 8

B
RONWYN FINISHED WASHING
the last pot and placed it in the drainer. She’d saved a scrap of chicken for Rufus, sprawled like a matted orange rug at her feet, but when she tossed it to him, he only licked it as if to show his appreciation, then flopped back onto the scuffed linoleum. Poor old Rufus. She’d been a baby when they’d gotten him. That would make him—what? A hundred and five in dog years? She supposed that if she lived that long, she’d be picky about what she ate, too.

She bent down to scratch behind one of his raggedy ears. ‘Holding out for a bigger bribe? Sorry, Ruf, this is as good as it gets. But I’m counting on you anyway not to rat me out.’

At the thought of her daring plan Bronwyn’s heart began to race. It had been taking shape in her mind for days, ever since Noelle’s court date. Now the time had come to put it into action.

Oh, she knew what they thought: that she was too young to be much help, that she’d just get in the way. As if they had accomplished so much! If they were so smart, how come Noelle still hadn’t gotten Emma back? They all acted as if that creep Robert were practically invincible. But that was just what he
wanted
them to think.

Bronwyn knew better. Last summer her sister had gotten her a job at Van Doren & Sons, and she’d seen a thing or two. Like the safe where Robert kept a second set of books, which she was sure the IRS would be interested in knowing about. A safe to which she just so happened to have the combination. But that was another story.

Right now her main problem was that her dad, much as she hated to admit it, was clueless. These days it wasn’t
she
he saw but a collection of parts: her three earrings in each ear, pierced belly button, and wardrobe that in his words showed too much skin and not enough practicality. He’d be surprised to know, for instance, that she was still a virgin. And that yesterday, at Scoops, she’d been made Employee of the Month. And when you got right down to it, which of them was going to end up walking Rufus tonight? Personally, she wouldn’t bet on the tall man in jeans who was so blinded by love he couldn’t see straight.

Did he think she hadn’t noticed? Jeez. He might as well be wearing a flashing neon sign, it was that obvious. Even when Mummy was alive, she’d noticed that Dad never talked about his first wife unless the subject just happened to come up—almost as if he were afraid to. Then he’d get this funny faraway look on his face, as if whatever he was remembering were too private to share. Mummy had noticed it, too. But the great thing about her was that she’d somehow understood. Bronwyn thought maybe it was one of the reasons Dad had married her … because she accepted him the way he was, leftover heartaches and all.

But things were different now. For one thing Mummy wasn’t around, and Mary
was.
Also, you’d have to be blind not to see she was just as crazy about Dad as he was about her. Bronwyn didn’t know where all this was leading; all she knew was that she wanted no part of it. As Maxie would say,
Ixnay onay—that’s pig Latin for no fucking way.
Her best friend had a saying for practically everything, usually with four-letter word worked in. When Bronwyn had confided in her, Maxie, true to form, had given the most accurate assessment of the situation to date: that it was shaping up to be one big
Melrose Place
rat-fuck.

What Bronwyn hadn’t admitted to her friend was just how scared she felt. This thing with Noelle could drastically change
all
their lives, not just her sister’s.
And I, for one, am not going to sit back and wait for some stupid judge to make up his mind.
Maxie had an aunt and uncle who’d been going at it for
years.
In the meantime,
anything
could happen. Noelle, who already looked like death warmed over, could get sick,
really
sick … like Mummy. Robert could permanently brainwash poor little Emma. And Dad …

He could end up getting married again.
She shuddered at the thought.

But there was a problem with her plan: She couldn’t carry it out alone. And there was only one person she could count on to help her.

Nevertheless, as she was reaching for the phone on the wall, the thought of what she was about to ask of Dante caused her hand to freeze in midair.
If you get caught, you could both wind up in jail.
As for her boyfriend, it wouldn’t be the first offense. Six months ago a DUI had earned him a night behind bars and a suspended sentence, which, oddly enough, was how they’d met.