A Dark Love (15 page)

P
orter Moross woke up shivering. His office was eerie, unfamiliar viewed from this angle, where he lay on the therapy couch. Too quiet at this hour, late on a Sunday afternoon. His gaze drifted and he saw this as his patients did. Except the wing chair was empty. There was no mommy figure to provide comfort.

His heart ached with the old, childhood ache and he rose stiffly, feeling hung over, and walked to the window. The street outside was bleak, deserted at this hour. His breath left a small circle of fog on the pane.

A change had come. Autumn, harbinger of the season of death.

Porter checked his watch. Barely four. He had many things to attend to.

He took one last look around the office, his heart heavy with sadness. This place had been his and his alone. This was where he had spent his days, confident in the one aspect of his life where he excelled. Dr. Porter Moross, nationally renowned psychoanalyst. People sought him out for his expertise. They had read his quotes in the
New York Times
or the
Washington Post
, or simply heard him mentioned by word of mouth. It astounded
Porter how little his patients actually knew about him, about what he did and what sort of results they could expect, when they came to him. His patients were accustomed to seeking out and demanding the best. They led lives of privilege and power. Here, they were reduced to children, clamoring for Porter’s attention.

And now it was over. This space, like the home above, had been profaned.

He went upstairs to shower and change, donning clothes that were identical to the ones he’d slept in. Black mock turtleneck, black sport jacket over black jeans, and black loafers. He brewed coffee, not bothering to wipe up the loose grounds that spilled on the granite countertop. Cleanliness didn’t matter any longer. The place already had an abandoned feel, like a college dorm the day after final exams.

He returned to his office and settled in his desk chair, not allowing himself to mourn the fact that it would be for the last time. He set about his tasks with the precision that had placed him at the top of his graduating class.

He scanned his BlackBerry until he found the contact information for a fellow psychoanalyst he’d met last year at an annual Freud conference in Miami, a man who practiced in the elite suburb of Bethesda, Maryland. Porter dialed the after-hours emergency number that was printed on the card.

The man answered on the first ring, his tone cordial and measured. He remembered Porter and said the usual pleasantries, asking about Porter’s family and whether he was headed to Miami for their annual conference next week. All the while trying not to show he was taken aback when Porter revealed the nature of his call.

“Aaahh, yes,” he said, “I can take on new patients. Shall we set up a meeting to review?”

What he meant was he wanted to know why Porter was clearing his roster. Porter explained there wasn’t time due to a family emergency.

The man offered regret for Porter’s family emergency.

Behind the expression of sympathy was a question, and it was one Porter chose to ignore. “I will provide my patients with referrals to you at once.”

The referrals were priceless, and they both knew it.

In the end, the man agreed to treat Porter’s patients, but not before he made one more attempt to pry into Porter’s business. “Dr. Moross?” His voice transformed from colleague to caregiver, oozing with professional concern. “Is everything okay? I mean, if there is anything you’d like to discuss, I could even see you this afternoon.”

It was the line used for reeling people back from the ledge. Porter was the superior psychotherapist of the two and they both knew it, a fact he was tempted to point out. He closed his eyes instead, against the pain of countless tiny pinpricks digging at the insides of his lids. Porter’s skin condition worsened at times of stress. “I’ve got things under control. Thank you for asking.”

There was a pause. “I see.”

Which meant, of course, that he did not see. But Porter had, after all, just handed him a portfolio that young residents would bid ten years’ salary to get. Porter pushed his glasses aside and knuckled his eyes, which only intensified the ache.

“I do appreciate your confidence in me,” the man said. “Please call if I can ever return the favor in any way.”

His voice held a question.

Porter pictured him now, stocky and balding, with his ordinary face. “Will do.” As though they both didn’t know they would never speak again.

Porter hung up and drew a line through the first item on his to-do list. He looked at the framed photo of Caroline on his desk. Happy, laughing, young. His grip tightened until the tip of the pencil snapped, shattering the surface of his desk with jagged lead shards.

He called patients while his long, thin fingers raced across the keyboard, shifting funds in his accounts, canceling his newspaper subscription, and checking e-mail once more, both his and Caroline’s.

He found the latest message from Tom Fielding, flagged urgent. Reading it made him double check the postage on the envelope containing Fielding’s e-mail correspondence with Porter’s wife. That asshole. Porter hit delete.

Finally, he signed on to MapQuest and ordered driving directions from Washington, D.C., to Storm Pass, Colorado.

S
TORM
P
ASS
, C
OLORADO

K
en drove through town and then out past his house before heading north up into the state wilderness area. The road climbed higher in a series of switchbacks carved against the side of the mountain.

Caroline’s ears popped with each hairpin turn. She was grateful for Ken’s skilled driving, because the higher they climbed, the smaller the guardrail looked. The landscape changed as the air thinned, turning cooler. Once, they rounded a turn and saw what looked to be a dozen white tails bobbing as a herd of elk bolted into the brush.

They stopped at a scenic overlook. A series of neighboring peaks rippled up from the earth’s mantle. Ken explained the Rockies had been formed by a violent collision of tectonic plates during the last Ice Age.

Caroline traded her fleece jacket for the down parka Ken offered. They had gained two thousand feet in elevation and the air was fifteen degrees cooler here. He handed her a wool stocking cap, watching with interest as she pulled off her baseball cap and shook out her
hair. “It’s a day for rare sightings. First a herd of wild elk and now Alice Stevens without her St. Louis Cardinals cap,” he teased.

Caroline ran a hand through her hair. The breeze felt good on her scalp, like everything else about this day so far.

They drove higher to the end of the county road. A rustic wooden sign warned they were leaving the area of regular patrol by Colorado authorities, and entering a private wilderness area. All visitors were urged to sign in on a yellowing loose-leaf pad that sat beneath a battered plastic cover inside a wooden shelter. Caroline shivered, mindful of local pueblo lands that were strictly off-limits to day-trippers.

She cast a sideways glance at Ken as he shifted the Jeep’s engine into overdrive and turned onto a bumpy dirt track. “Is it okay for us to be here?”

Ken nodded, steering onto a jutted track through a sparse forest of spindly pines, the only trees that grew at this altitude. “It’s mine,” he said with a shy smile. He shrugged. “It feels silly saying that about this.” He motioned with one hand at the grandeur surrounding them. “The indigenous people who lived here first don’t believe you can own a place, and I agree. But, according to the state of Colorado, everything from the county road on out belongs to me.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. “It’s hard to believe this all belongs to one person.”

“All that time on the playing field in Kansas City paid off, I guess,” he said with a rueful smile. “I always loved it here. And now at least it will never be developed.”

“Why don’t you live up here?”

“Well, for one thing I don’t think the neighbors would like it.” He grinned, pointing up to where two large hawks wheeled high above. “Plus, I like my creature comforts, running water and electricity. The place in town is fine. I come up here and stay for a few days whenever I need some one-on-one time with God.”

She had never heard a man speak this way, and it was touching. Ken was a success by any measure, strong and in control. And yet he spoke plainly of God. Something, she realized, Porter Moross with his post-doctorate education would never humble himself to do.

She was unsure what to say, and settled on thanking him for bringing her.

“My pleasure,” he said with another smile. “It’s the best place I know to come and clear the cobwebs from my head. I’ve been coming up here to do that since I was a kid. The door’s always open, Alice. If you ever want to come here and rest your mind, the place is yours for as long as you want.”

Because there were a lot of things in her mind that needed sorting out. He didn’t say so, but Caroline sensed that was what he was thinking.

“You might even catch a fish or two while you’re at it,” he teased.

They drove past other grass tracks, little used by the look of them, and finally turned down one that would have been easy to miss except for a fallen log that was piled with rocks in the shape of a pyramid. This was a cairn, Ken explained, used by hikers to mark a trailhead.

The trees thinned out even more, and Caroline sensed they were about to enter an open space.

The Jeep bounced out onto a mesa.

Facing them was a vista unlike anything she had ever imagined. Straight ahead was a lake whose crystalline waters mirrored the sky above. Tiny waves lapped at a muddy shore, littered with boulders taller than Ken. Mounds of tall grass dipped and swayed in the breeze that was constant at this altitude. She traced a trickling sound to a granite cliff beyond the far shore, where a steady flow of rocks bounced onto a valley floor. She half expected to see a woolly mammoth lumber into view. The place was positively primeval.

She blinked, trying to take it all in. She had only seen views like this on calendars or travel posters. She let out a long, low breath. “Wow.”

Ken spoke in a hushed voice. “It’s my favorite place in this world.”

The setting demanded reverence. Caroline pulled her glasses off and tried to take it all in.

Ken got out and came around to the passenger side. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

She stepped out into another world. The earth beneath her feet felt supercharged, practically bouncing under her weight with energy stored up from the birth of the mountain that, Ken explained, had been a relatively recent event in the earth’s history. The air was crisp, flavored with the scent of pine needles from the trees that seemed to start here and stretch into eternity. The slamming of the car door was out of place here, leaving Caroline to wonder how many animals were startled, watching their movements from hidden lairs. She inched the zipper high on her down parka and thrust her hands in the pockets, grateful for the wool mittens stashed inside.

After a few steps she lost her breath as the landscape tilted dizzily.

Ken placed a steadying arm around her waist. “Easy, Alice. Take a few deep breaths, slow and steady.”

For one giddy moment his face swam out of focus. Up close, he was more handsome than he was from several feet away. She allowed herself to lean on him, marveling at the feel of his arm and shoulder that were so formidable compared with Porter. She was helpless to do anything else until the dizzy spell passed. But the fluttery feeling inside her remained.

“It’s the altitude,” Ken explained, keeping his arm tight around her middle. “Just take it slow. Take deep breaths in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Caroline did as she was told. She wasn’t in any position to argue, not with her heart hammering like it was trying to jump right out from inside her chest.

“Some people feel it more than others. It has nothing to do with physical fitness. Just take it easy till you get acclimated. I’ve got plenty of bottled water inside. That’ll help.”

Caroline nodded, yielding to the fact that her skull felt like it might bounce off her shoulders. She was glad for the warmth of Ken’s hand around hers as she took a few steps, very aware that she was intruding on a vast wilderness that could easily swallow her up without a trace.

Ken steered her to a small cabin tucked just inside the tree line.

The place was tidy, built of hardwood logs with a small porch in front and a single great room inside. A pair of skylights in the ceiling provided natural light. Several stands of bunk beds sported striped wool blan
kets in a sleeping alcove. Brightly colored Navajo rugs covered the broad oak plank floor. A large black iron stove stood in the center of the room with a pipe leading up to the ceiling. A corner of the room served as a spotless kitchenette, from which Ken now produced two bottles of spring water.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle against Caroline’s. “Here’s to the patron saint of trout.”

Caroline giggled, and couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her face when she smiled. She took a long swig and looked around. The room was completely masculine and cozy at the same time.

“Have a seat while I get our gear,” Ken said.

She settled onto a Scandinavian-style settee with leather cushions. It had a comfortable feel, and a small ottoman that had seen its share of booted feet.

“I don’t get many female visitors up here,” Ken said, rummaging through a large closet that had been built into a corner of the room. He came out with a pair of polypropylene waders, long johns, and an oiled jacket. “These should fit,” he said, sizing her up.

They looked to be a perfect fit, and Caroline wondered who had worn them originally, his ex-wife or a girlfriend?

Ken must have read her mind. “Most of my clients are men, but every now and then I get some women. Last summer, I hosted an all-female editorial board,” he said, naming a popular women’s lifestyle magazine.

The explanation cheered Caroline more than she wanted to admit, a fact that made her blush. “Did they have a good time?”

Ken whooped. “Did they ever! They’re already booked for next year. Got myself a lifetime subscription to the magazine, too. Gus likes the recipes.”

Caroline giggled again, holding the waders at arm’s length. “Where is the, ummm…”

“Brace yourself, Alice,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “This is where the ‘roughing it’ part comes in.”

He led her through the back door to an outhouse in the woods. “I promise it’s better than you think. In fact, I’ve got an outdoor shower you’d love.”

She pictured herself in golden sunshine standing naked under a stream of sparkling water. The thought undammed something deep inside her and she felt it flow through her veins like sweet lava. She felt the heat in her cheeks and knew she must be blushing, and this only broadened Ken’s smile.

“I’ll be out front when you’re ready.”

He was poring over the contents of a large tackle box in the back of the Jeep when Caroline shuffled across the grass, unused to walking in rubber overalls. He gave a low whistle like she was a contestant in a beauty pageant.

Despite feeling like some sort of sea monster, Caroline laughed. “Next up, talent contest.”

“I predict you’ll do well with a lure,” he said. Two fishing rods were propped against the open hatchback. “There’s no better way to spend a day than this, in my opinion.”

Caroline was worried there might be live worms involved, but a short time later she agreed with him. They were standing up to their thighs in the clearest water she had ever seen, watching thick brown trout dart along the bottom.

Ken was a towering presence at her side, positioning her hands on the rod while he taught her how to cast off. His strength flowed through his shoulders as
he flicked the reel, sending the lure flying in a great arc before landing with a splash.

He stopped, his face close to hers.

She hardly dared to breathe and when she did she got a lung full of his clean scent. His arms brushed hers when he positioned her rod, one forearm steady and firm against the small of her back. Once he had the reel in place, he moved his arm away, and she felt his hand travel slowly across her waders.

The world stopped. There was no mistaking the reason now for the thumping inside her chest. She drew in a breath.

Ken felt it, too. His eyes met hers. She got a flash of what it would be like to be with him, watching him take his time with her the way he did everything. She had only ever been with Porter in bed in her adult life, and Porter’s touch was something she had grown to dread. So the desire that sprang up inside Caroline now caught her off guard.

Ken stood close enough that she need only signal him.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his open collar, and brought his face down close to hers.

She felt his breath on her cheek as the lids dropped low on his eyes, dark with want.

He took a breath in and looked in her eyes. Waiting.

Caroline’s stomach went soft inside like warm oatmeal. She licked her lips, her breath turning shallow. She was off balance, as though the lake bottom beneath her feet was lurching in another clash of tectonic plates. She reached a hand out to steady herself.

He took it and pulled her to him.

His chest felt like a wall of solid granite. One that
was warm and yielding. He gathered her to him until the only thing between them was her forearm sliding up around his neck like it had taken on a life of its own.

She wanted him.

He lowered his face to hers and brushed her lips with his.

She closed her eyes. She felt his breath on her face, his warm solid feel against her from her feet all the way through her body, and this awakened a yearning in her that took away her balance and left her knees soft. It was so easy to yield to him, and she did. The lake bed stopped its careening then, and she lifted her lips to his.

They kissed, slow and soft but long enough to fill Caroline’s mouth with his. She was surprised by the depth of her emotions, and how good it felt.

After a moment he drew back and gauged her response with eyes that were soft now, dark and frank. “I think you’re special.”

She breathed in, feeling shaky, and looked away. “I…” she began. “It’s just…” Her voice trailed off to a whisper and she was surprised to feel hot tears sting her eyes, burning her throat.

Ken straightened up, but not before planting a soft kiss on the top of her cap. He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Don’t explain. You don’t owe anybody anything.” Keeping one hand firmly on her elbow to steady her, he sorted out the fishing rods while Caroline dug a tissue from the pocket of her jeans.

He busied himself winding the lines while she dabbed at her eyes and tried to calm herself. He did not, Caroline noticed, stare at her and root around in her mind until he found the cause for her tears.

After a time, she risked a glance up at him. He was whistling something snappy while he tended to the lures.

He met her gaze and winked. “The thing I like about trout fishing,” he said, “is the fact that they don’t just swim up to the hook and ask to get caught. You have to be patient, wait till the time is right.”

Relief washed over her. He wasn’t going to press her for any explanations. Her breathing slowed to normal and she regained her footing.