Women on the Edge of a Nervous Breakthrough (26 page)

  "Me, too. But that's life." She put a sturdy wooden chair in the middle of the room, and patted the cane seat. "Sit."

  "Okay." Erin tried not to show how nervous and excited she was. She carefully put Nathan back in a tiny wing -back chair in the living room and adjusted him so he looked comfortable. Then she turned to fi nd Vivian watching her thoughtfully.

  "I'm leaving here soon."

  Erin's brain shut down, the way it always did when instinct told her bad news was coming. "What do you mean?"

  "Leaving Kettle."

  Panic started. "Leaving?"

  "As soon as the media goes away and the fuss dies down. I'm just here to ride it out."

  "But . . ." Erin threaded her fingers together and squeezed at the knuckles until it hurt. Vivian. Gone. She thought Vivian had moved here to stay for at least a year or so. That she'd be here long enough to be Erin's inspiration and maybe her friend, the one person who could understand her. That she'd help, that she'd somehow make things change, if not for Erin, maybe for Kettle, in some of the ways it badly needed to change. That Vivian herself was a sign, the way the e -mail this morning had been. Like an angel helping David's stone fly straight. "You just got here."

  "This isn't really my kind of town."

  "No." She shook her head, trying not to sound as miserable as she felt. "No, of course not."

  "I was wondering, though, since I'll have to sell the house and get rid of stuff, would you like the dollhouse?"

  "Would I like it?" She forced herself to concentrate.

  "Yes. I'll give it to you."

  "I'm . . ." She stared stupidly. Vivian would give away a happy piece of her childhood? To Erin? "It's too much."

  "I'd like you to have it. It means something to you. I don't want some spoiled princess getting it from Daddy and playing for ten minutes before she's begging for the next thing."

  "I couldn't." Erin's voice went whispery. "Joe would—"

  "Fuck Joe." Vivian gestured violently. "Do
you
want it?"

  Erin plunked herself in the chair, frightened, desperate, miserable. Why had she allowed herself to hope? Vivian was leaving, and once again there would be no one here for Erin. No friend. No hope. Nothing.

  Except, maybe, a dollhouse, that would remind Erin of the one time she had someone to escape with, to hide in the woods and put her arms around and laugh with from fear.

  That was something.

  She cleared her throat so her voice would come out stronger. "Yes. Thank you. I'd love it."

E-mail from Tom Martin to Sarah Gilchrist Afternoon, October 29

Sarah, leave the party and meet me at my place at nine tonight. I want you so badly I can't sleep. I'm hard all day long thinking about you, about touching you, about kissing you everywhere, about making you scream with pleasure. Please don't say no. Please say you'll
meet me. I'm a desperate man. Desperate for you and only you.

Tom

  Sarah read Tom's e -mail for the fourth time, delicious sensations bouncing around her body, trying to memorize it before she'd have to hit delete so no one poking through her computer would find it, not that anyone in this house would, but just to be certain. God forbid she die in a freak accident and leave this.

  She hated deleting notes from Tom. She wished she had every e -mail he'd ever sent and all of hers back to him so she could assemble them in a big book and reread them, reliving the excitement—the timid exploration turned into this glorious, beautiful exchange of passion.

  
Making you scream with pleasure.
Oh my. She was crazy with desire. Crazy. She put her hands to her hot cheeks, certain a sexual demon had taken possession of her. She deleted the e -mail and crept to her dresser drawer, fished under her slips, and came up with the vibrator. Again. She was insane. She'd never lusted so deeply or purely for any man.

  She listened for a second to make sure Ben hadn't done something radical, like change positions in front of his monitor, then lay back on the bed, turned the magical little blue and white machine on, and put it to work, fear she'd be discovered heightening her arousal. Ten seconds, twenty, imagining herself on his doorstep, dressed in her Come As You're Not costume of black fishnets, torso barely covered in black satin, black elbow -length fingerless gloves, a headband with fuzzy ears, and a long black tail. Tom opening the door, the rush of unstoppable lust, the desperate hurry, the driving need to be together, clothes torn off right there in his hall, passionate kisses, then Tom's beautiful face between her legs . . .

  Thirty seconds, forty . . .

  
Oh.
She muted the cry, let her body sail through the by now familiar sensations—rising ecstasy, spilling over, wild contracting . . . and then down.

  Tonight. If she dared. For the first time, a body other than hers would make her feel all those things. And so much more in her heart.

  
Leave the party and meet me at my place at nine tonight.
She deserved it, yes, dear God, she deserved it. But—

  "Mom?"

  
Amber.
On her way up. Sarah yanked up her black linen pants and lunged for the dresser, reburied the vibrator under several inches of soft, high -quality ivory, black, and peach colored nylon, rayon, and silk.

  "Yes? What." She tried to sound short and pressured. She'd left the Kettle High gym on the pretext of checking her pumpkins, but the pumpkins were undoubtedly fine, cozily loaded on the flatbed next door, ready to make their entrance later.

  All she'd really wanted to check was her e -mail.

  "Can I come in?"

  "Sure honey." She dragged off her apricot sweater so she could pretend she'd been up here changing.

  "Hi." Amber came in, hesitant, awkward. "Um . . ."

  "What is it, sweetheart?" Sarah's tension rose. If such a thing were possible.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course."
Oh no.
Sarah had enough on her plate without another Amber crisis.

  "Um. Well . . ." She stared down at the rug Sarah and Ben had bought in Portugal together, twisting her fi ngers. "Larry wants me to go to a Halloween party in Ladysmith tonight."

  Sarah was so upset, she stopped with her sweater still on both arms but not yet over her head. "What?"

  "I
said,
Larry wants—"

  "I heard what you said."

  "Then why did you say,
What
?"

  Sarah took a deep breath, because she'd been about to open her mouth and say, Y
ou know perfectly well why, you little shit
. "Don't be sassy with me, young lady."

  An adolescent expression was the only response. That damn subversive eye roll that said,
Mom, you are so out of it.

  Well, not quite as out of it as everyone seemed to think. Just wait until they saw her at the party in her costume. Kettle would never be the same.

  "Absolutely not, Amber. You are going to be at Kettle's celebration as you have been for the last—"

  "Kettle's celebration is for
kids
."

  "No. It's for our town. And you're going, like it or not."

  From somewhere in the back of Sarah's head,Vivian's voice reminded her that coming down too hard on a teenager . . .

  She made an effort to rein in her temper. Damn it, she had a million things to do. It was getting dark, and she still had to get dressed—with a demure cloak that allowed only tantalizing glimpses of what she had on underneath. Then she might as well check her pumpkins before she went back to the gym to make sure everything was—

"You can't keep me from going."

  "No." She forced herself to stay calm, wanting to shake Amber until her disrespectful head flew clean off and Sarah could replace it with a new one. "You're right. I can't."

  Amber's eyes widened. Obviously she had not expected to win that battle. Though it struck Sarah that after the surprise wore off, her daughter looked more stricken than triumphant.

  "But I can depend on you to do the right thing, Amber. The mature thing. Because . . ." She almost said,
Because you're my daughter,
but she couldn't handle Amber rejecting that bond with more sarcasm. "Because I trust you."

  Amber's face screwed up as if she were trying not to cry, except she hadn't seemed sad. What on earth was the matter
now
?

  Then it hit. Amber had actually been coming to Sarah for permission
not
to go.

  "Is that Larry pressuring you to attend this party?"

  Amber's head jerked up; she met Sarah's eyes as if she'd just found out her mother was an alien mind -reader. "Sort of. We fought about it."

  "What kind of party is this?"

  "It's Larry's friend. His parents are away this weekend. I guess there's going to be a lot of beer, and worse stuff, and . . . other things I don't think I want to do."

  Sarah's heart nearly broke. She wanted to clasp the sweet child-after-all body of her daughter close, but she was too afraid Amber would roll her eyes again. "Sweetheart, why didn't you just tell me that?"

  "Because I promised him I'd ask. He wants me to go."

  
Oh dear God.
New anger added heat to all the anger Sarah glowed with already. Not just at Amber. Not just at Larry. But at herself, now. For spending Amber's life catering to Ben. What had she taught her daughter about the ability to think for herself and speak for herself and make decisions for herself while essentially acting as Ben's slave?

  Larry wanted Amber to do something for him. Where did Sarah think her beautiful, smart girl would find the courage or strength to resist or object when all she saw in her own female role model was Cinderella pre -prince? And post -prince, for all the world knew, the fairy tale stopped there.

  No wonder Amber had been drawn to Vivian. No wonder.

  Well, no longer, because Sarah was becoming a new woman. Or rather reverting to who she'd been before Ben. Life for Sarah and for her daughter was going to be different, starting right now and lasting for as long as they both lived.

  "Go out and tell Larry you can't go because I won't let you." She gestured Amber outside. "Blame it on me."

  "Really?" The hope in her voice nearly made Sarah cry.

  "Yes, of course. I'll take the fall gladly. I'm so proud of you I could hug you."

  Amber rolled her eyes, and Sarah had to swallow hard to stay strong.

  "Well, duh, Mom, you don't need permission for
that
."

  Her little girl came into her arms, and Sarah enveloped her, held her tight, letting her senses register every sensation, every sweet curve and sweep of her daughter's body, her warmth, her smell, her ebbing little -girl softness, in case Sarah never got to experience a moment this good again until teenage hell had passed.

  "Go." She made herself turn Amber loose. "Tell him. Is he waiting outside?"

  Amber ducked her head, kicked at the rug. "Yeah."

  "Good. When you're finished, come back in here, because I have something to show you."

  Amber danced to the door and pirouetted, a study in opposites to the way she'd come in. "What?"

  Sarah smiled. She shouldn't be doing this, she didn't have time, she had decisions to make, responsibilities to attend to. But this mother-daughter moment was so precious, and who knew when they'd get one like it again.

  "I want to show you my Halloween costume."

Twenty - one

Erin Hall

"Okay. Done."

  Erin held still while Vivian snapped an elastic around the French braid she'd just made in Erin's hair. She'd put makeup on her, too. Eyeliner, mascara, blush, lipstick, nothing that had ever touched Erin's face before. Her eyelashes felt heavier, and her eyes felt as if they were open wider. A lot of girls wore makeup in high school now, but back when Erin went, only some girls did, and she wasn't one of them.

  So she was a late bloomer. Better than never blooming at all. "Can I look?"

  "Not yet. I want to give you something to wear."

  "Why?"

  Vivian looked down at Erin's baggy jeans and the long sleeved cotton tee fraying around her neck, and her gray cardigan sweater, and lifted an eyebrow.

  "Yeah, okay." Erin laughed. Stupid question. But it made her kind of nervous to think of wearing something else. Especially something of Vivian's. Erin's clothes might be baggy and horrible, but they'd been who she was for so long, shedding them felt threatening.

  "I'm taller than you but not by much. I think you can fi t into my stuff." Vivian was already at Stellie's massive bureau, opening drawers, pawing through piles, checking her closet, turning around now and then to look thoughtfully at Erin.

  Erin reached to touch her hair. Her face felt cool and exposed, the braid tugged pleasantly on her scalp when she moved.

  "Here. Look. This is perfect."

  Erin turned to look and immediately started to blush. A black miniskirt, shorter than anything she'd ever worn except her running shorts, but those didn't count. And until recently, she hadn't worn those, either. Besides jogging, she doubted anyone in Kettle had seen more of her legs than a sock-covered ankle.

  The top Vivian chose was hot pink, searing pink, pink enough that people miles away would know it was pink, and wonder about the person wearing it. The shirt also looked about three sizes smaller than anything Erin was used to.

  "You'll need hose, too." Vivian darted back to her dresser, rooted through another drawer. "Sheer black, with tiny black dots. Thigh -high so the lace tops flash when you cross your legs. Very sexy but more comfortable than stockings and a garter. Men go wild for black stockings."

  But men didn't go wild for Erin. If a man even looked at her, it was at most with a flash of curious pity. Even those looks got her the third degree from Joe. Jordan didn't look at her like that. But he'd only seen her running with her hair in a careless ponytail, looking strong and free. He didn't know her the way she usually was.

  "And heels of course." Vivian was back at her closet, poking among enough shoes to stock a store. "Aha! These."

  Erin gasped. She doubted she could even stand in those. The heels had to be four inches, ending in a tiny spike. Little would cover her foot, just thin straps cascading down the steep incline of the sole. They'd be incredibly sexy. On Vivian.

  "Jimmy Choo criss -cross sandals. The man is a genius. What size do you wear?"

  "Eight."

  "Ha! We're twins. Here." She brought the clothes over, a black and pink armful.

  "Vivian. I can't . . . I can't wear this stuff. Joe—"

  "Joe's not going to see you. This is just fun for us. Unless you want it to be more, that's up to you."

  Erin laughed nervously, about the only way she laughed. She might as well admit she desperately wanted to wear the clothes, just here in Vivian's room. Even knowing she'd carry back excitement that Joe would sense no matter how hard she tried to conceal it. "Okay. For here."

  "Good for you. I'll help you dress."

  Erin stopped smiling and crossed her arms over her waist.

Her parents, her husband, and medical personnel were the only people who'd ever seen her naked. "I don't need help."

  "Why? It's fun girl stuff." At her dresser again, Vivian held up a bright pink matching bra and panties that still had the tags on. "Never worn. They'll be great under the outfi t."

  "You can't."

  Vivian tossed the underwear on the bed. "Can't what?"

  "Be here. See my body."

  Vivian came over and stood close. Gave Erin a long, searching look that made Erin want to cry. "Why not?"

  Erin's breaths started coming too fast, too short, a ball lodged in her belly. She was horribly afraid she was going to build up to one of her fits. She couldn't stand to do that to Vivian. She'd die of embarrassment fi rst.

  "Modesty?"

  Erin shook her head, looking past Vivian, lips pressed together to keep the truth back.

  "Scars?" Vivian said the word strangely, as if something was lodged in her throat.

  Erin swallowed. Swallowed again, though there was nothing in her mouth to swallow. She'd told one person. One. About Dad, too. Her teacher, who seemed so nice, so worried. Then a few days later, Mrs. Flatley told Erin to be a good girl and to stop making up stories about her father, because that kind of thing didn't happen in Kettle.

  "He cuts you?" Vivian whispered in a choked way, standing so close her breath hit Erin's cheek. "Burns?"

  Erin shook her head, unable to speak. The ball inside her moved up into her chest . . . only it didn't feel like one of her fi ts now.

  It wasn't a fit. It was the urge to spill, filling her until she thought she'd explode. She hadn't felt that for so long, she didn't even recognize it.

  "You can tell me." Vivian was still whispering.

  "I cut myself. Used to. When I . . . was a kid." Her breath heaved up and down so the words bounced out of her, nearly unintelligible. "Joe . . . he just . . ."

  "Okay." Vivian put her arms around her. Erin was shaking so badly she didn't know how Vivian could hold on to her, but she did. She was strong. Erin laid her head on Vivian's shoulder and screwed her eyes shut. She was tired of being a basket case. She wanted to suck vitality and courage out of Vivian. To be strong like that all the time, every day.

  "Shhhhh. It's okay. It really is." Vivian rocked her like a child, then started humming the Irish lullaby with the "
toora-loo-ral"
part, which was kind of nutty, but which made Erin feel a little more stable. "Erin."

  "Yes."

  "I'm going to take off your clothes and put the new ones on. I want you to relax and let me."

  Erin lifted her head, keeping her eyes shut. Vivian took off her sweater, gently pulling it over her shoulders. Erin didn't let her protest out. Nor did she open her eyes. Vivian took the T-shirt and pulled it up, stretching the neck to get it over Erin's head, careful not to touch her made -up face or muss her perfect hair.

  Erin stood stiffly in her old cotton bra and jeans, feeling vulnerable and shaky. She could do this. It would be fi ne. When it was over, she'd open her eyes and see a new woman.

  Vivian's hands tugged at her waistband, unsnapped, un

zipped, pulled down the jeans. If she was shocked at the scarred mess at the tops of Erin's thighs, she didn't let on.

  Then Vivian's warm hands again, unhooking her bra, slipping it off, easing her panties over her hips, the air in the room cool on her naked skin.

  Erin lifted her feet one by one to let the panties go. Her eyes were still screwed shut, her breath still coming too high and too fast. What next? The shocking pink underwear would go on. She felt herself bracing, as if it would burn her.

  Instead of underwear, she felt touches. Small ones with one finger, tiny gentle strokes. Vivian was tracing her scars. Every one. Circling the bruises still on her arms. And two on the insides of her thighs where Joe had been rough.

  Then a hand under her chin, a brief warm kiss on her mouth, and a whisper in her ear. "You can get free of him. There's help out there. You just need the courage to do it."

  Erin didn't move. She felt Vivian's absence, sensed her walking away. She wanted to open her eyes, but her breathing had slowed, her heart had slowed, the ball in her chest nearly dissolved. If she opened her eyes she might have to go back.

  She felt Vivian near again, a tap on her foot. "Lift."

  She lifted that foot, then the other, and felt the smooth glide of underpants back up, soft and slidy with lace, the cupping of her breasts by another bra, not hers. Then the swish of a lined skirt, cool against her skin, the unfamiliar embracing tightness of a top over her torso.

  "Lift again." Another feeling, stretchy cobwebby material sliding up, then the fi rm soft grip of elastic around her thigh. Repeated on the other side.

  Erin opened her eyes.

  "And now, prepare for a shoe -gasm." Vivian brought the sandals over, smiling wickedly, and it was as if the previous scene had been a crazy dream out of Erin's crazy head and all along they'd been two normal girls dressing for a party.

  She stepped up into the shoes, giggling at the way her feet felt so scrunched and unnatural, and realizing the giggle wasn't stupid and nervous -sounding. But happy, like they were young again, playing dress -up, with no idea how their lives would turn out, with their faith that things would get better still intact. "How do you walk in these?"

  "Practice and attitude."Vivian looked Erin up and down and shook her head. "You're going to drop dead when you see."

  "Okay." Erin giggled again. That sounded promising. She teetered over to the mirror facing the street, thankful for her strong legs and ankles to keep her upright.

  Her image stared back at her, as shocked as she was.

  "Wow." She started laughing and tented her hands over her mouth. "Wow."

  "See?" Vivian appeared in the reflection next to her, beaming. "You are a total hot babe."

  "It's not even me."

  "Oh yes, it is. Trust me, you carry it naturally. You want to go as you're not to the party, wear the ratty stuff you've been hiding in your whole life."

  Erin brought her hands down. She did look hot. Her eyes had become large and glamorous, framed with dramatic dark brown. Her face glowed with color, her lips looked sensuous and sexy, even with the muted shade Vivian chose. The hairstyle was chic without being too chic for her and framed her features perfectly.

And the outfi t . . .

  Her body had never looked like that. It had never occurred to her she had a body that could carry off sexy clothes. She didn't spend a lot of time examining it. Her body had betrayed her by not carrying Joy to term; her body was a vehicle for pain more often than pleasure.

  But this . . .

  "Thank you." In heels she was Vivian's height, and their eyes were on the same level. "Thank you."

  She couldn't say anything more, but Vivian nodded, looking straight back at her, and Erin knew she understood that Erin wasn't just thanking her for the makeover, but for the whole afternoon. The healing touches, the encouragement to get herself free from—

  
Joe.
Erin looked around wildly for a clock and saw the old one with Jesus's face on it, which she thought Vivian would have gotten rid of. But maybe even Vivian couldn't bring herself to throw Jesus away.

  Five-thirty. "I'd better go."

  "Okay." Vivian said it regretfully, as if she'd really enjoyed being with Erin this afternoon, and Erin's heart swelled. How different would her life have been if Vivian had moved to Kettle to stay all those years ago? Maybe both their lives would have been different.

  She started gathering up her old clothes. "I can pay you—"

  "You don't need to pay me."

  "Yes. I do. I—"

  "Erin." Vivian laid a warm hand on her arm. "Count this one as fun between friends, okay?"

  Erin choked up. She knew Vivian must have had tons of friends in her life. She was already friends with Mike, if not more than friends, and might even end up friends with Sarah. Calling someone a friend wasn't that big a deal. If Erin cried, she'd look like a bigger dope than she already was.

  "Thank you." She started pulling off the clothes, gratifi ed when Vivian didn't ask why or urge her to keep them on.

  "Is he home now?"

  "No. Not for a while, probably an hour or so." And he'd be drunk from partying at Rick's all day, and things would get even nastier later after the bourbon he snuck in to the party every year. "I need to make him dinner."

  "Keep the hair and makeup. Enjoy them a while longer. You can comb out and wash off quickly before he gets home."

  She desperately wanted to. She wanted to go home and park herself in front of a mirror and stare. Memorize exactly how she looked in case she never saw herself this way again. "Okay. I will."

  She went reluctantly downstairs, trying to hang on to the glow of the afternoon, knowing it wasn't going to last nearly long enough.

  She said good -bye to Vivian quickly, so the moment wouldn't seem symbolic or stupid. Just casual friends saying good -bye after a pleasant afternoon they assumed they'd have to do over and over again.

  At the end of the driveway she turned in the descending darkness, saw Vivian standing illuminated by her back porch light, looking after Erin, and they both waved. When Erin glanced again, she saw Vivian had gone inside and shut the door.