While You're Away (13 page)

W
ith nightfall coming, we drove down the old river road outside of town. Before the highway, everybody took this road to get to the beachy cottages that lined the water. It was just far enough away that you could say you went somewhere with the summer, but not so far that you had to refill your gas tank until it was time to go home.

With the top down, my hair was a wild mane. It swept around my face, twisting and tangling as we sped into the dark. There were no streetlights this way. No bright, illuminated signs. In fact, a few miles out of town, it turned into forest. Flashes of moonlight on water danced between the trees and the sweet scent of pine filled the air.

About an hour later, Will pulled off the main road. At first, I thought he was just going to park on the shoulder so we could walk to the water. But the bounce and jolt of tires on gravel told me otherwise. We took the hidden drive slowly. The lighter stone pathway looked almost liquid in the dark, like we were cruising along a river of our own.

Finally, Will pulled to a stop. Cutting the engine, he came around to open my door. Taking my hand, he led me carefully along the rough path to a cabin nestled in a stand of weeping willows. The headlights dark, the car silent now, everything took on an otherworldly shape. Summer frogs chirped all around us, the whisper of crickets filling the spaces between.

Wood smoke lingered in the air. Pungent and rich, it seemed to swirl with a cooler, cleaner scent. It took me a moment to realize it was the smell of fresh running water. Though the path hadn’t been sure in the dark, I could tell we were close to the river here. Closing my eyes to shut out all the dim light, I heard it. The swift, smooth rush of water carried with it a chorus of night sounds.

Producing a single key, Will unlocked the cabin and stepped aside to let me walk in first. As soon as I did, I realized he’d already been out here today. There was a fire banked low in the stone hearth. Glass bottles shimmered in a pail of half-melted ice. I laughed when I picked one up and realized it was root beer.

Will tossed me a church key, then leaned back against the door. “I still owed you.”

“Yes, you did,” I said with a smile. “Are we breaking and entering?”

“Nah,” he said, his gaze trailing my face. “My family owns it.”

“It’s nice,” I said. I opened a root beer and started to toss the cap into the fire. Instead, I slipped it into my pocket. The glass was cool on my lips as I took a sip, the soda lush and spicy. Moving through the cabin, I took in all the little details. The living room was just big enough for a couch. A tiny table with two chairs sat behind it.

French doors opened onto the river. From here, I saw starlight on the current. It danced like fireflies, chasing and chasing, never stopping. If I took half a step, the light shifted and I saw Will reflected in the glass behind me. His gaze followed me, burning even in the dim light.

“It’s not as nice as the cottage I had at Marblehead. But maybe we can do that next year. Winter break, maybe?”

Turning, I leaned against cool glass. The cabin was so small, it would only take a few steps for us to meet in the middle.

He looked so pristine. So absolutely perfect. His thin white button-down clung to his chest, the collar open to reveal a beaded chakra necklace encircling his throat. It was a flash of color against his skin. It matched his jeans and brought out the blue of his eyes. Shadows played up and down his body, and he knew I was drinking in his details. He leaned his head back against the door. Raised one foot to press against it. Thumbs hooked in his jeans, Will was utterly comfortable being contemplated.

A dark thrill came over me. If everything went right, I’d get to see all of him. Summer and swim class meant I’d seen nearly every inch of his body.

Cut and perfectly angled, his back was as tempting as his chest; his strong arms matched the muscled length of his thighs. And with or without jeans, it was obvious he had a world-class, quarter-bounceworthy ass. But now I’d find out where that dark streak of hair beneath his navel ended. If that heavy curve in his jeans was backed up by an impressive erection.

Six-months-ago Sarah would have been too squeamish to even think about something like that. Now, I
wanted
to know—even if it made me squirm to admit it, even to myself.

With a sip of root beer to fortify me, I tried to stand there as comfortably in my own skin as he did. I think I managed it. I felt good in my black eyelet lace. Its halter-top showed a little skin, but the color left some mystery. I loved the way it moved. Will’s gaze traveled down the flared lines and lingered on my bare thighs.

A blush rose on my chest, slipping up my throat and touching the tips of my ears. No one had ever looked at me the way Will was looking at me now. Most of the time, I was the girl that people’s eyes slid past.

My sisters got the refined beauty in the family. I was rougher, my hair untamed. My hands were too big to be elegant. I wasn’t tall enough to be willowy, but I was too tall to be petite.

Under Will’s slow consideration, to my own surprise, I felt sexy. I felt worthy—crazy irresistible. I became aware of my own power, my own heat. He wanted to get to everything I hid beneath my dress. When he dragged a hand over his mouth, I knew it was watering. He probably had plans for me. Slipping his tongue into me, maybe his fingers, too. What’s more, I wanted him to. I wanted him to gasp for me. To beg for me.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but he’d made me feel exactly the same way that first night in the boathouse. No wonder I ended up flirting with him. No wonder I pushed him back and kissed him first. Being with Will stripped away my inhibitions. He made me forget to be afraid.

“You know, St. P-Windsor’s only four hours away.” Will shifted, his foot slipping off the door. Tension jangled my nerves, but I loved him so fiercely right then. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pushed off the glass doors to make my way to him.

Heat pooled between my legs and my skin begged to be bared. If I tugged at the ribbons on my halter, it would fall away. All my bare skin would be his to kiss, to touch—to lick. Nipples hard behind thin, silky fabric, they stung in anticipation. The tremble in my belly translated to a thin, shimmery ache beneath my lacy lingerie.

Already, I could imagine how dark Will’s hair would look against my skin. What I longed to find out was what his mouth would look like, plush and swollen and worshipping the curve of my breast. Sinking lower. Disappearing between my thighs—

But I was the one in control here. My body had to follow my mind. I had to know that Will and I weren’t just talking about the future, but that we were going to
have
one.

Clutching the root beer so hard my knuckles went white, I said, “You might feel differently when you get there. You’re going to meet so many new people.”

“They’re not you,” Will replied.

“They might be hot.”

His voice rougher, lower, Will took a step. “But they’re not you.”

“We don’t have the best track record,” I said. I berated myself for reminding him that we hadn’t been free to get together when we first got together. But I couldn’t avoid it, could I? As nervous as I was to have this conversation, it had to happen. I couldn’t keep going with Will unless I knew we were going somewhere permanent. All that uncertainty knotted me up and I couldn’t relax until we pulled those knots free.

Will took another step. “That only happened because it was you.”

He looked at me and I saw he really meant it. I felt like a cage had opened. Like I had suddenly flown free. Will and I had a future, one that he was already planning for. He loved me, and I loved him, and all at once, I let all my doubts go. Light, so light I wasn’t sure my feet touched the ground, I took another step toward him. Enough serious talk, I teased him softly, “Or maybe it was the root beer.”

He nodded at the bottle in my hand. “How is it?”

“A little warm,” I replied. I was right; it was only a few steps for both of us to meet in the middle.

I offered him the bottle, but he shook his head. Taking it from my hand, he set it aside. Then he slipped his fingers into my hair. There was a subtle possessiveness in his touch. Just a way that he pulled me to his chest that screamed ownership. It wouldn’t have mattered if we were in the middle of Grand Central Terminal—his touch stripped the rest of the world away.

The subtle blue of his eyes shifted. Dark lashes fell as he leaned in.

When he kissed me, it wasn’t tentative. He dipped past my lips, his tongue swirling hot against mine. Low, hungry sounds rolled in his throat and his fingers twisted in my hair. Chasing the sugary sweetness of the root beer from my mouth, he slicked into me.

We had kissed so many times before, but this time, there was intent. I felt the chase in my blood. It didn’t matter that I was already caught, that I’d already pledged myself to him, that my chest still pounded with anticipation. Each slip of tongue was a drug. It made me run fast; it stole my breath. Banding an arm around my waist, Will dipped me back.

Off-balance, all I could do was beg for more. And I did beg, offering up my mouth again and again. My hands flew up the back of his shirt. Though my nails were blunt, there was enough of an edge to them that I could rake them along his fine shoulder blades.

The sound he made when I did that was unholy, and incredible. Then, we were moving, completely in sync. We stepped at the same time, drifting past an open door, into a cooler, quieter room.

Moonlight spilled through the window. It traced Will in silver as he backed me up against a wide bed. So many emotions flickered across his face. A brow lifted, his lips parted in murmured wonder. All I could think as I sank into the crisp linens was that he was beautiful. Not handsome, beautiful. Some divine artist had freed him from marble and breathed life into him. This moment, and every moment with him, was beautiful, too.

Spilled across the bed, I reached down for him. Will caught my hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. Then, he grazed his lips against the inside of my wrist. It felt like a brand against the tender skin there. For a brief, blazing moment, I thought nothing could feel better than that kiss against my wrist.

Then, instead of sliding up to cover me, Will brushed his hands against my knees. His palms raced up my thighs, parting them gently. When his touch disappeared beneath my skirt, I gasped. This wasn’t the way I had imagined it. For some reason, I’d thought I’d direct him, and he’d follow faithfully. Now I realized he had his own ideas. And I had no hope of guessing his plans. I couldn’t have even guessed the details—like the foreign pleasure that swept over me when his slightly rough cheek brushed the inside of my thighs.

Never would have guessed that feeling his hot breath through my panties would blank my mind quite so completely, either. I was terrified, my hands twisting in the quilt. I wasn’t having second thoughts. It was just a great unknown, and I needed a push. One last look back before flying. Pushing onto my elbows, I carded my fingers through his hair. I just needed a kiss. One more kiss—I might have whispered that aloud.

Will pushed forward, skimming the curve of my lips with his. But he didn’t linger there. He left me stunned, dragging my own lower lip through my teeth. Because the next thing he kissed was the curve of my knee. His mouth did linger there, as if it were the most perfect knee he’d ever seen. As if he couldn’t keep himself from nuzzling it.

My breasts felt full, constrained by too many clothes. My head swam; it was too full, too. Nervous longing played through me. I wanted, even if I didn’t know exactly what. To me, it was simply more. More of his mouth. More of his fingers skating up my thighs. Then suddenly, beneath the silk edge of my panties. His bare skin on mine shocked me and I gasped.

Even against the bed, my hips swayed. I arched beneath Will, then sank back again. I had no idea what I was doing—then I realized, maybe I wasn’t supposed to.

There was a difference between being safe and having faith. I trembled, but I wasn’t unsure—I didn’t know what would happen, but I was excited to find out. Every first time was a leap into the dark. What was important was that this time, I wasn’t leaping alone.

Will brushed his nose against my thigh. Drawing a breath against my skin, he shuddered. Murmured something appreciative, flicked a look in my direction. Watching my reaction, he slicked his fingertips, grazing and tracing—teasing. They were close, almost inside me but infuriatingly far away. I wanted to reach down. I wanted to guide his hands to places only I had touched, but leap into the dark or not, I was too shy.

“Will,” I murmured, plaintively. Restless beneath him, I combed my fingers through his hair. Nails grazing his cheek, my thumb strayed too close to his mouth and he tasted that, too. He sucked the tip of it, even as he stroked his own thumb along the curve of my clitoris. I curled tight, my toes, my spine, and whimpered in pleasure.

Will Spencer, bastard.

He knew
exactly
what he was doing to me. Playing my senses with lazy flicks of tongue, he dared me to do something about it. It wasn’t cruel; in fact, it was quietly gallant for such a player. In a voice meant for my ears alone, he asked, “Yes?”

The world stopped. It hung suspended, quivering and full of possibility.

Above the bed, a window opened to the night sky. It was cloudless, black, and pierced with a million points of light. Our breaths fell heavy in the dark; the bed beneath us creaked. My toes pointed, they stroked restlessly against his hips. That was before.

“Yes,” I whispered back to him, and together we sank into the exquisite after.

P
eople said you had to suffer for your art. I had to admit, it was easy to wrench a song out when everything was a disaster. But even though I loved the music I wrote when I was in dark places, what I wrote after my first night with Will was
extraordinary.

They didn’t feel like my songs. More accurately, they didn’t sound like anything I’d written before except for “Everything.” I
loved
these songs. They soared with rich, complicated melodies. The guitar work was some of my best yet.

I dipped into my savings account and paid for two more hours of studio time. I was going to spend the next couple of years eating nothing but ramen, but I had to have my own demo.

With the mic in front of me and Dasa behind me, I soared. When I sang my own songs, when I played my own music, recording was a rush. Take fifteen was as exhilarating as take one.

Even the engineer noticed a difference. When I packed up my guitar and headed out at the end of my second hour, she stepped into the hall to catch me.

“You’re going places, girl,” she said.

Though we’d had a lot of local success as Dasa, I couldn’t remember anyone saying anything like that to me personally, ever. The attention had always belonged to Dave. Dave was the star. But now, a new, tentative foundation spread beneath me. All the lingering worries that I needed the band to succeed began to fade.

I was so drunk on my new music that I turned up outside Will’s window three nights in a row with my guitar. His manicured backyard was perfumed with summer lilac. There was just a single pool of light to stand in. So I planted myself there and texted Will to come to his window. He shared the nascent west wing with nobody; his parents’ room was on the far east end of the house.

Even his silhouette at the second story window thrilled me. Stowing my phone, I played through my new songs one by one. I kept everything sweetly muted; if he wanted to hear the words, he’d have to come to me. I’d sing them right into his ear.

The minute he hit the back door, I knew to put my guitar down. He’d sweep across the lawn and crash into me. Picking me up, he spun with me until we were both dizzy. Then slowly, he’d let me slide down his body until our lips met.

We stole seconds in his bedroom and my music room. We found out that you can’t get very far in the back seat of a Honda Civic. On the other hand, the warm hood of a Miata in moonlight was the perfect place to get a little dirty. It cooled, but we didn’t.

On the Fourth of July, we drove to the next town over to watch fireworks on the river. Jane, stepping in as best friend ever, covered for me so Will and I could spend a few whole nights together at the cabin. We always had root beer and solitude. One night, we spread a blanket beneath the stars, stripped to the skin. But sinking into bed with him is what I liked best.

When I rolled over in the morning and found him scrambling eggs in nothing but his boxers, my heart leapt again. I didn’t want to go home; I didn’t ever want to wake up alone again. Slipping behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his back. We fit together so beautifully that it genuinely ached to let go.

Only one thought marred our summer days and nights. It was already hard to spend the day with him, then have to return to my house when it was done. How was I ever going to survive when it really was miles between us, and weeks before I’d see him again?

Will talked me into filling out an early admissions package. It was increasingly clear that I had to start thinking about myself first. With the new music I was making, and my new outlook on life, that was fine. U of M in Ann Arbor was only about an hour from Will’s college, which would put us a lot closer together if I went there. And it had a great music program.

Since I’d never put much effort into planning for college (I hadn’t saved a whale or invented a cure for an infectious disease or started volunteering at the age of three), there was no way I’d get into schools like Juilliard or Yale. But UMich was a possibility, and the proximity would be nice. Will was convinced that my music was good enough to get me in there early, and with a scholarship. I didn’t know about that, but his confidence always felt so good to hear.

When we got tired of answering probing application questions, we would take breaks. Sometimes to drive. Sometimes to pick things out for his dorm room.

I had to stop him before he bought discount sheets. Casting furtive looks, I carefully peeled open one of the nicer packages and made him fondle the goods.

“See?” I told him. “You can buy the ten-dollar sandpaper, or you can get these. Start out with something nice, Will. You know you’re not going to wash them until you come home at Thanksgiving.”

Cornering me in the bedding aisle, Will pressed me against the shelves and kissed me. He stroked his hands down my waist, over my hips. And he laughed against my lips, a low, wicked sound. “I’ll have to after you come visit.”

“Bad!” Scandalized, I dared to dip my fingers down the front of his jeans.

They only skimmed the waistband of his boxers. His loosely tucked shirt kept me from touching any skin at all. Apparently that was close enough. He pressed against me, his interest evident in a hard, hot shape against the crook of my thigh.

One kiss away from really inappropriate, we were interrupted when a woman wheeled her cart into the aisle. She stopped dead. A sticky toddler in the seat craned around to look at us. I could practically hear the music screech to a halt as she shot us the dirtiest look imaginable.

Instead of simply backing out of the aisle, she attempted a three-point turn instead. All the better for her to hiss at us as she retreated.

“This is a family store!”

When she finally tottered around the corner, I burst out laughing and buried my blushing face against Will’s shirt. We grabbed the better sheets and hurried to check out. We both thought it would be best to escape before we got arrested for indecent exposure at the East River Target.

It didn’t matter where we went. Wherever we were, we were alone. I kept waiting for the buzz to wear off, but it never did. I caught my breath every time I saw him.

Every single time he came to my door, or looked out his window, I caught myself hoping: look at me, see me, love me. And every single delirious time, he did. Swirling into my house after a day with him, I didn’t try to stop singing. My lyrics or somebody else’s, music spilled out of me as I swayed through the halls.

When I returned home from our trip to Target, a light was on in the kitchen. I padded down the hall to find Grace sitting alone at the island. She wasn’t eating—or reading, or looking out the window. She just sat there, staring at the butcher block. I’d never seen her sit so still.

When I came closer, I realized her eyes were rimmed with red. Big displays of emotion weren’t Grace’s style. She had always been more comfortable quantifying and qualifying things. She liked it when she could measure and sort, when she had complete control.

Touching her shoulder, I apologized when she startled. Somehow, she’d had no idea I’d walked into the room until I reached for her. Slipping closer, I lowered my voice. A quiver broke the pretty line of her lower lip, and my heart wrenched in my chest. “Sis, what’s wrong?”

“Luke won’t be visiting this summer.” She said it coolly. As if she was just passing on a message. “Actually, he won’t be visiting again.”

“Oh, Gracie,” I said. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

I leaned against her shoulder because sometimes, she didn’t want hugs. It was hard not to smother her in my arms. When Ellie broke up with her partner last year, she curled on her side in the couch and used my legs as a pillow. Hours passed with me handing her tissues and combing through her hair.

Grace shifted her weight ever so slightly. She pressed back against me, her version of wallowing. “I knew something wasn’t right. He kept missing our Skype dates. I’d get one text for every four I sent.”

On her behalf, I felt betrayed. “Are you kidding? How hard is it to answer a text? It takes maybe two seconds.”

“Don’t you dare make fun of me, but I calculated the rate of return. The gap between the time I sent him a text, and when he finally replied. As of last week, the average was two days, the mean was three, and the margin of error . . .”

I couldn’t help it. I threw my arms around her. Pulling her head to my shoulder, I kissed her hair and held her so tight. My poor, reasonable, regimental sister’s heart had broken. It was a terrible moment of realization.

Petting her, I asked, “So could you calculate the trajectory and speed I’d need to throw a rock to hit him in the head from here?”

Instead of chastising me for being childish, Grace sniffled on my shirt. “A rock is too small. Use a bazooka.”

“I’m so sorry,” I told her. I let go with one hand and one hand only. Stretching to snag the box of tissues from the counter, I slid them in front of her. “Did he have an excuse for all this bullshittery?”

Grace stilled. A painful smile cut the corners of her lips. It was a macabre expression, one that left her dark eyes desolate. Her voice tinged with anger, she snatched a tissue from the box. “Oh, that’s the best part. He’s in
love
.”

“What?!”

Swiping at her face, Grace turned to me. “He says it started by mistake. The North Atlantic is just so lonely.”

Rage bubbled in my belly. There had been a time when we’d teased Grace about all the time Luke spent on research vessels.
How long before he mistook a manatee for a mermaid? Were there even manatees that far north? Would a harbor seal do the trick?
But those were jokes. Never once did we think that he’d fall for an actual human woman, or fall into her bed. Berth. Bunk. Whatever it was they had on ships.

“Are you kidding me?” Whistling under my breath, I handed her a new tissue. She’d shredded the last one in record time. “How long has this mistake been going on?”

Closing her eyes, Grace drifted away. It was like everything drained out of her at once. Her anger, her sadness. They were all pushed down by a thin layer of ice. She probably needed the numbness just to answer that question. Her lips barely moved. The answer slipped from her, bleak and almost inaudible.

“A year. So when he was here at Christmas, he was already sleeping with her.”

Where Grace was frost, I was fire. I wanted to snatch back every conversation I’d had with him. I wanted to reverse time and reclaim every single thing we’d given him—up to and including Grace’s heart.

Trembling with anger, I said, “And he had the nerve to drink our eggnog.”

“Last Thanksgiving,” Grace said sharply. “When he came out to Chicago for my college family dinner? Sleeping with her. At Tam and Becca’s seder! The whole time, he was sleeping with her. An entire year, and I had no idea. Why didn’t I notice?”

“Because you trusted somebody you loved. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

A shuddering breath overtook her. Hiding her face in her tissue, Grace shook her head. “I feel so stupid. And so embarrassed. Bragging to everybody about how we were making long distance work. That people who couldn’t just weren’t committed enough.”

My throat closed up. I’d never thought she was bragging. She was just Grace, cataloging the data that put her relationship with Luke in the upper percentiles for success. Now, for every time Ellie and I had whispered
very effectively
at each other, I hated myself. And, I have to admit, I began to doubt myself a little.

Because I’d believed in Grace and Luke. It was because of them that I was able to laugh while picking out sheets for Will to sleep on four hours away. Their relationship, which had seemed so perfect with the video calls and late night texts, had taken the fear out of my future with Will. I’d believed that it was possible because I personally knew someone who was making it work.

Only now, I didn’t. Now I realized somebody could smile and look me in the face and talk about how great my sister was . . . and the whole time be cheating on her. It was a shock to look back at the holidays. Luke brought really thoughtful presents. He’d helped in the kitchen. He’d asked us questions about our lives and acted invested in our family. He’d laughed and smiled at Grace, and the whole time . . .

No wonder Grace hadn’t seen it. None of us had.

What could I say to make it better? Short of buying an intercontinental ballistic missile off Craigslist and aiming it straight for Luke’s fat, cheating head—I had nothing. Nothing but hugs I wasn’t sure she wanted, and tissue she kept destroying instead of using.

Leaning over her, I kissed the crown of her head. Smoothing a hand down her hair, I said, “This sucks. I’m sorry, too, because it’s just going to keep sucking until one day, when you realize it sucks less.”

“When?” she asked plaintively.

“I don’t know.” With another kiss, I squeezed her. “But you know what? You’ll get through this. You’re smart, and you’re strong. Something better is waiting for you.”

“That’s the worst part.”

“What is?” I asked, filled with dread.

“I don’t want something better. As stupid and sick as it is, I still want
him
.”

Grace slipped to her feet. The look on her face brought me to tears. It was like someone had scraped out every bit of my big sister and left nothing but a shell behind. She haunted the hallway, gliding toward the stairs and onward to bed. She seemed so fragile. So insubstantial.

The kitchen felt empty, now. The pale light from the stove seemed to struggle to light the space around me. It was like the room had surrendered with Grace.

I couldn’t help but feel guilty, because I knew Tricia had gotten that same horrible call. Because of me. Is this what she’d looked like that day? Had she gone home to her sister and cried while she tried to be brave?

Shoving those thoughts aside, I busied myself cleaning up confetti tissue. It didn’t matter that Will was going away. We weren’t doomed to the same fate. Yes, we’d gotten together under terrible circumstances. But I’d done my best to make up for it. Will was sorry, I was sorry—and we were different.